fre once he drew tane Jong kiss my whole soul through his as sunlight drinketh dew. Fatima. Stanza 3. You mast wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year; Of the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merri est day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be The May Queen. Queen o' the May. God gives us love. Something to love To J. S. More black than ashbuds in the front of March. I am a part of all that I have met.1 In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Locksley Hall. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight. Ibid. He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. Ibid. 1 Compare Byron, Childe Harold, Canto iii. St. 72. Page 474. Like a dog, he hunts in dreams. Locksley Hall. With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. This is truth the poet sings, Ibid. That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering hap pier things.1 Ibid. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels. Ibid. Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new. Ibid. Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing pur pose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. Ibid. I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. Ibid. I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time. Ibid. Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. Ibid. Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. 1 Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria. - Dante, Inferno, Canto v. 121. For of fortunes sharpe adversite, The worst kind of infortune is this, Ibid. A man that has been in prosperite, And it remember, whan it passed is. Chaucer, Troilus and Creseide, Book iii. Line 1625. In omni adversitate fortunæ, infelicissimum genus est infortunii fuisse felicem.- Boethius, De Consol. Phil., Lib. ii. I waited for the train at Coventry; 1 hang with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times. Godiva. The Day-Dream. L'Envoi. As she fled fast through sun and shade, Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere. But O for the touch of a vanished hand, Break, break, break. But the tender grace of a day that is dead With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, Ibid. The Princess. Prologue. A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever. Ibid ii. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, Ibid. iii. And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. Ibid. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Unto dying eyes The Princess. iv. The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. Ibid. Dear as remembered kisses after death, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Let knowledge grow from more to more. Ibid. vii. Ibid. In Memoriam. Prologue. Line 25. 1 I held it truth, with him who sings 1 1 Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame. Ibid. i. Longfellow, The Ladder of St. Augustine. Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break. And topples round the dreary west A looming bastion fringed with fire. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land.1 I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing. In Memoriam. vi. The shadow cloaked from head to foot, Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. Ibid. XV. Ibid. xviii. Ibid. xxi. Ibid. xxiii. And Thought leaped out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech. "T is better to have loved and lost, Ibid. Hold thou the good: define it well: For fear divine Philosophy Should push beyond her mark, and be Procuress to the Lords of Hell. Ibid. lii. O yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. Ibid. liii. 1 Compare Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 1. Page 119. |