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Seite 41 - Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the Fairy Queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours. I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Seite 44 - That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Seite 52 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Seite 139 - Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer : Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane most catholic and solemn Which God hath plann'd, — To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky.
Seite 134 - Remember all who love thee, All who are loved by thee ; Pray, too, for those who hate thee, If any such there be ; Then for thyself in meekness, A blessing humbly claim, And link with each petition Thy great Redeemer's name.
Seite 43 - Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them...
Seite 42 - Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Seite 41 - tis he: why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
Seite 40 - Come funeral flower ! who lov'st to dwell With the pale corse in lonely tomb, And throw across the desert gloom A sweet, decaying smell — Come, press my lips and lie with me Beneath the lowly alder tree : And we will sleep a pleasant sleep And not a care shall dare intrude, To break the marble solitude, So peaceful and so deep.