The Port of Missing Men

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Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1907 - Autographs - 6 pages
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Page 136 - AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Page 258 - My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness! Take back the hope you gave — I claim Only a memory of the same; And this beside, if you will not blame — Your leave for one more last ride with me. My mistress bent that brow of hers, Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs When pity would be softening through...
Page 314 - IN the highlands, in the country places, Where the old plain men have rosy faces, And the young fair maidens Quiet eyes; Where essential silence cheers and blesses, And for ever in the hill-recesses Her more lovely music Broods and dies.
Page 357 - Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules. But beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life - I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince.
Page 150 - Survive not the lamp and the lute. The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute...
Page 1 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Page 258 - My mistress bent that brow of hers, Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs When pity would be softening through, Fixed me a breathing-while or two With life or death in the balance : right ! The blood replenished me again; My last thought was at least not vain: I and my mistress, side by side Shall be together, breathe and ride, So, one day more am I deified. Who knows but the world may end to-night?
Page 202 - SECRET NIGHTINGALES warble about it All night under blossom and star; The wild swan is dying without it, And the eagle crieth afar; The sun, he doth mount but to find it, Searching the green earth o'er; But more doth a man's heart mind it — O more, more, more!
Page 161 - Who climbed the blue Virginia hills, Against embattled foes, And planted there, in valleys fair, The lily and the rose...
Page 150 - The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.

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