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Author beautiful become begins body Book bright called century Christ Christian church close cloth extra coloured comes common Crown 8vo dark dead dear death deep Demy Divine earth Edition England English expression face fair faith feeling gilt edges give hand hear heart heaven History hope human Illustrations Italy land leave less Letters light lines living look Lord lost mind moral nature never night numerous once pain pass peace perhaps period pleasure poem poet poetic poetry political prayer present reach religion religious rest Ring rises seems seen sense Series side Small post sorrow soul spirit stand Story sweet teaching thee things thou thought true truth turn universal vision voice vols Volumes whole wild
Page 248 - Earth has not anything to show more fair ! Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples, lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Page 21 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 18 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Page 274 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
Page 16 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Page 275 - There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 237 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ; The bridal of the earth and sky : The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Page 269 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Page 267 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.