Sunlight and shade, being poems and pictures of life and nature

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Cassell & Company, Limited, 1883 - English poetry - 192 pages
 

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Page 89 - PIPING down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: ' Pipe a song about a Lamb !' So I piped with merry cheer. ' Piper, pipe that song again;' So I piped : he wept to hear.
Page 166 - SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth. by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld.
Page 167 - In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soullike wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things.
Page 91 - We will return no more;" And all at once they sang, " Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam." CHORIC SONG •"THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Page 126 - SHE stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened — such a blush In the midst of brown was born — Like red poppies grown with corn.
Page 175 - MY JO. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Page 126 - AUTUMN WOODS, ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
Page 167 - Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born; Others , their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing , Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn...
Page 175 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Page 150 - Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

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