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When he from some cold foreign strand,
Looks homeward through the blinding tear,
How must his aching heart deplore
That home and thee he sees no more.
How oft, though grass and moss are seen
NE of our sweetest spring flowers. It will not live long when separated from its parent tree.
SHRUBS there are,
That at the call of Spring
Burst forth in blossomed fragrance; lilacs, robed
THE lilac, various in array-now white,
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
Which hues she most approves, she chose them all.
LILAC of Persia! Tell us some fine tale Of Eastern lands; we're fond of travellers. Have you no legends of some sultan proud, Or old fire-worshipper? What not one note Made on your voyage? Well, 'tis wondrous strange That you should let so rare a chance pass by, While those who never journeyed half so far Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world To reverently peruse and magnify What it well knew before!
Oн, were my love yon lilac fair
When wearied on my little wing.
How wad I mourn when it was torn
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.
"The lotus-flower, whose leaves I now
Far more than words can tell thee, how
OW sweet it were, hearing the downward stream
Falling asleep in a half dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh bush on the height; To hear each other's whispered speech;
Eating the Lotus, day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
Heaped over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass.
The Lotus blooms below the flowery peak;
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotus dust
We have had enough of action and of motion, we
Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind;
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
Surely, surely slumber is more sweet than toil; the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and
O, rest ye, brother mariners; we will not wander more.