ISBN: 9781236031372

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 38 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purc… Plus…

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 38 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1837 edition. Excerpt: . . . of the hills That look eternal; of the flowing streams That lucid flow forever; of the stars, Amid whose fields of azure my raised spirit Hath trod in glory: all were dumb;--We shall meet Again, Clemanthe!--Ion. Bring home the child--the child of love--And let her cure my beating heart of pain! Oh! let my hand reach forth the desert dove, And bring her safely to my ark again! For now my heart is breaking in my breast-Bring home the turtle to her native nest! Bring home the child--the voice appeals To thee, whose memory never more shall be Bright with the sunshine that forever seals The undimmed fountains of my soul for thee! The reed that cannot stay the torrents course, Must die beneath the glory of its force! Bring home the child--the tuneful bird--The April dove that cannot coo in vain--Oh! bring her safely where she never heard The soft sweet lyre she may not hear again! Bring back the turtle to the heart that lies A living remnant of our broken ties! Bring home the child--here let her rest As sunshine to the chaos of my heart! For now it rolls within my darkened breast, As earth before the veil was rent apart That made the universe, around us seen, Rush into life two brighter worlds between. Bring home the child--there is around The heart that calls upon thy startled ear, An untold music, whose eternal sound Comes forth like wailings from that sepulchre, Wherein is laid all that the heart loves most, Of whose deep moan this music is the ghost! Bring home the child--there is no voice To mortal ears like that unheeded tone, Whose music makes the very heart rejoice, And in the echo leaves it more alone! A sound that gushes from my heart to be A stream within thy souls eternity! Bring home the child--the absent dove--The wandering Pleiade to. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 24 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1845 Excerpt: . . . grow. I envy air, Because it dare Still breathe, and he not so, Hate earth that doth Entomb his youth, And who can blame my woe Now a poor lad, alone, (Alone how can such sorrow be) Not only men make moan, But more than men make moan with me: The gods of greens, And mountain queens, The fairy-circled row, The muses nine, The nymphs divine, Do all condole my woe. You awful gods of skies! If shepherds may you question thus, What deity to supply, Took you this gentle star from us Is Hermes fled Is Cupid dead Doth Sol his seat forego Or Jove his joy He stole from Troy Or who hath framd this woe Did not mine eyes, O heaven! Adore your light as well before But that amidst you seven, You fixed have one planet more! You may well raise, Now double days On this sad earth below, Your powers have won Another sun, And who can blame our woe At your great hands I ask This boon, which you may easily grant, That, till my utmost mask Of death, I still may moan his want. Since his divine Parts with you shine, Too bright for us below, And Earths sad breast Entombs the rest, Yet mine is all the woe. Coridons Comfort. The second part of the Good Shepherd. To the same tune. Peace, shepherd, cease to moan, In vain is all this grief and woe, For him thats from us gone, And can, alack! return no more. But yet, indeed, The oaten reed, And mirth thou late didst know, I blame thee not, If now forgot, For who can blame thy woe The breath had once a sound, Harmonious, as in sighing spent, The temples once were bound With chaplets, or a pleasant scent. Now Cyprus wear, Thy grief and care To all the world to show, The pipe so sweet Thy lips so meet, And who can blame thy woe The murmur of the brook, Hath been delightful to thine ear, Much pleasure hast thou took, Sweet Phil. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 36 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1836 Excerpt: . . . that perish in the grasp, --And while the nightmare, brooding oer your rest, Draws sighs and moans alternate from your breast, Let wizard fancy with its wand of power, Roll up the shadowy curtain of the hour, And to my soul the hidden things unfold, That night and silence in their bosom hold. Tis midnight, and the waveless sea of gloom Sinks the wide city to a dreamless tomb: No footfall wakes an echo in the street, No voices come from those who part or meet: No setting stars the lapsing hours reveal, But the dim Heavens are shut as with a seal! Hushed oer the awful scene of mimic death, Time folds his weary wing, and holds his breath. My eye is closed, yet lingering beams of light Steal oer the inward soul, like things of sight, Seeming the shapeless hues that dimly glide Within, when first the visual lid is tied; Yet as the spirit gazes, melting, take Pinions of fire, and bid a world awake! With glittering gold the starry heavens ascend, And skies auroral, oer the landscape bend. Glancing around on waving pinions fly, A thousand forms all radiant as the sky. Flashing, yet faint, they distant seem to glide, Like dreams away--light shadows oer a tide; Yet nearer seen, each brow is well defined, And the high impress speaks the lofty mind; Gazing they pass, with their keen vision bent, On the uncurtained bosom, deep, intent! Startled, and shrinking from a scene so new, My naked spirit all revealed to view, I turned around to seek some friendly guide, And found a gentle vision at my side. She spoke, and whispering in my wondering ear, Revealed the story that I burned to hear. Spirit of earth! I bid thee mark my theme, Nor hold this scene a light fantastic dream--A veil hangs lightly twixt thine earth and heaven, A thin partition which thy soul hath rive. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 26 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1858 Excerpt: . . . the employments of this evening, what are they most likely to be Easy work, quiet reading, and conversation. There may be less mirth than usual--a sense of something grave and earnest may have stolen over-us; but our deeper thoughts of devotion are kept for our own chambers, and when we meet together, even in our homes, we allow but few evidences of such thoughts to be perceived. Time passes on; it is late: the appointed hour of rest is come. There are soft, warm beds prepared for us; and sleep is sent in mercy from on high. The occupations of the evening are put aside. Prayer is offered up for the pardon and favor of God, and the parting wish of all is for a good night, --a night safe under the protection of the Almighty, and blest with the blessing of repose. When the deep church-clock strikes the hour of midnight, --when the earth is still and silent--when stars shine out in the dark heavens, and the moon emerges from amidst fleecy clouds, throwing a pale light upon rocks and trees, and tracing a silvery path upon the sea, --all are at rest. This night is a uight in the Holy Week. In the country of Judea, in a narrow valley at the foot of the Mount of Olives, lies the Garden of Gethsemane;--the brook Kedron, a narrow stream, flows by it; the lofty mountain rises behind it; before it are the walls of Jerusalem. Night steals upon the earth in that distant land even as it steals upon us. Labor ceases; the sound of human voices, the noise of a great city, is hushed; men sink wearily upon their couches, whilst the moon and the stars shine full and bright; and the cutting wind rushes over the hills, and moans drearily through the trees of the Olive Garden. More than eighteen hundred years ago, the Saviour of the World passed this night in the Garden of Gethsema. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: . . . might Crouch guarding some enchanted gem of charm--Wilds of Carmarthen, that for me each night Reecho prayers and pleadings, --all the year Unanswered, made to listening waters, --white, The bitter white of Winter, and the clear Cool eyes of girlish Springtide, and the slow Sweet gaze of languid Summer, and the dear Dark eyes of tristful Autumn saw me so, Unhappy, lost among your moaning hills! Should any ripple tremble into glow, When yeasty moonshine scuds the foam, there thrills Hearts expectation through glad veins and high With She! each pulse the exultation fills. But shet is never. Once. . . and then would I Had falln abolished so beholding!. . . World, What sadder hast than beauty that must die--Once I beheld her!--if some fiend had curled Stiff talons through my hair, and, twisting tight, Scoffed, Burn and be! then into hell had hurled Me satisfied with beauty--beautys white Bloom heavenizing hell--I, unamerced, Shackled with tortures, might have mocked hells spite. Immortal memory of love, I thirst! O starlike beauty that the memory wove, In that I love thee am I so accursed--Oh, mak; me mad with love, with all thy love! Who tell it to these wilds when midnights gloom Storms or drip gold from sibylline stars above: Let thy high favor all heavens fires consume! Quench with thy starry presence! and make mad Me with sweet madness! slay me with perfume! Sleep may I not now for all sleep is sad. Cheated of thee, sad are all tearful dreams A shadowy sorrow haunts with what hath clad Days tyrannous hope in life that only seems: And seeming hope forever needs must pine Seeking evasions that are form-fixed gleams. --Though thou be wrought from elements divine, And I crass earth exalted, which will think, Since I am thine this m. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub<

ISBN: 9781236031372

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 26 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purc… Plus…

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 26 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1890 Excerpt: . . . roam The gayest of hearts was he, And aye in the spring of the year May-flowers he brought to me, --The seas moan do I hear May-flowers he brought to me With a shy half-smile and a blush, And now he is oer the sea; In vain my fond tears gush. I wish that my spirit free Might speed oer the white, white foam, He is dying far from me, Dying away from home. Class Ode, 1890. FHE distant stars the fairest star, And charms have untried seas, Dreams fancies fairest fancies are, The unattained doth please. The future lot in youths glad thought Perforce must far excel The joys that olden days have brought, Though memory keeps them well. But mist may veil the brightest star, And storms may vex the sea, Dream fancies, like fair phantoms are, Though fair, yet swift to flee, Like will-owisp, the futures beam Oft leads to unknown ways, Till some give oer lifes fitful dream, Ere spent are half their days. Then, whatsoeer life hath in store Of sadness or of joy, The pasts secure forevermore Beyond grim Times annoy. Then, Ninety, heed not rude alarms: He thrives who nobly strives; An afterglow of days at Arms Shall brighten all your lives. Autumn. THE hectic flush upon the woodbine leaves, A chill within the air, The mournful music of the wind that grieves, The sleep of blossoms fair. Portend the coming winter and the snow, Streams bound with icy gyves, The frosty starlights palpitating glow, Sad hours in poets lives. For an Album. yHE maple buds begin to glow once more, The crocus and the snow-drops are in bloom; Warm breezes play about the open door, And birds sweet music send unto my room. As from the snowy storms of winter cold God brings the beauty of the genial springs, So from the storms of life will He unfold The loveliness that decks eternal th. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 24 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1845 Excerpt: . . . grow. I envy air, Because it dare Still breathe, and he not so, Hate earth that doth Entomb his youth, And who can blame my woe Now a poor lad, alone, (Alone how can such sorrow be) Not only men make moan, But more than men make moan with me: The gods of greens, And mountain queens, The fairy-circled row, The muses nine, The nymphs divine, Do all condole my woe. You awful gods of skies! If shepherds may you question thus, What deity to supply, Took you this gentle star from us Is Hermes fled Is Cupid dead Doth Sol his seat forego Or Jove his joy He stole from Troy Or who hath framd this woe Did not mine eyes, O heaven! Adore your light as well before But that amidst you seven, You fixed have one planet more! You may well raise, Now double days On this sad earth below, Your powers have won Another sun, And who can blame our woe At your great hands I ask This boon, which you may easily grant, That, till my utmost mask Of death, I still may moan his want. Since his divine Parts with you shine, Too bright for us below, And Earths sad breast Entombs the rest, Yet mine is all the woe. Coridons Comfort. The second part of the Good Shepherd. To the same tune. Peace, shepherd, cease to moan, In vain is all this grief and woe, For him thats from us gone, And can, alack! return no more. But yet, indeed, The oaten reed, And mirth thou late didst know, I blame thee not, If now forgot, For who can blame thy woe The breath had once a sound, Harmonious, as in sighing spent, The temples once were bound With chaplets, or a pleasant scent. Now Cyprus wear, Thy grief and care To all the world to show, The pipe so sweet Thy lips so meet, And who can blame thy woe The murmur of the brook, Hath been delightful to thine ear, Much pleasure hast thou took, Sweet Phil. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 36 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1836 Excerpt: . . . that perish in the grasp, --And while the nightmare, brooding oer your rest, Draws sighs and moans alternate from your breast, Let wizard fancy with its wand of power, Roll up the shadowy curtain of the hour, And to my soul the hidden things unfold, That night and silence in their bosom hold. Tis midnight, and the waveless sea of gloom Sinks the wide city to a dreamless tomb: No footfall wakes an echo in the street, No voices come from those who part or meet: No setting stars the lapsing hours reveal, But the dim Heavens are shut as with a seal! Hushed oer the awful scene of mimic death, Time folds his weary wing, and holds his breath. My eye is closed, yet lingering beams of light Steal oer the inward soul, like things of sight, Seeming the shapeless hues that dimly glide Within, when first the visual lid is tied; Yet as the spirit gazes, melting, take Pinions of fire, and bid a world awake! With glittering gold the starry heavens ascend, And skies auroral, oer the landscape bend. Glancing around on waving pinions fly, A thousand forms all radiant as the sky. Flashing, yet faint, they distant seem to glide, Like dreams away--light shadows oer a tide; Yet nearer seen, each brow is well defined, And the high impress speaks the lofty mind; Gazing they pass, with their keen vision bent, On the uncurtained bosom, deep, intent! Startled, and shrinking from a scene so new, My naked spirit all revealed to view, I turned around to seek some friendly guide, And found a gentle vision at my side. She spoke, and whispering in my wondering ear, Revealed the story that I burned to hear. Spirit of earth! I bid thee mark my theme, Nor hold this scene a light fantastic dream--A veil hangs lightly twixt thine earth and heaven, A thin partition which thy soul hath rive. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 32 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1898 Excerpt: . . . Forward and onward and thither, And hither again and yon, With milk for our drink together And honey to feed upon--Nor hope of rest withdrawn us, Since the one Father put The blessed curse upon us--The curse of the wandering foot. A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS A Monument for the Soldiers! And what will ye build it of Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze, Outlasting the Soldiers love Can ye glorify it with legends As grand as their blood hath writ From the inmost shrine of this land of thine To the outermost verge of it And the answer came: We would build it Out of our hopes made sure, And out of our purest prayers and tears, And out of our faith secure: We would build it out of the great white truths Their death hath sanctified, And the sculptured forms of the men in arms, And their faces ere they died. A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS And what heroic figures Can the sculptor carve in stone Can the marble breast be made to bleed, And the marble lips to moan Can the marble brow be fevered And the marble eyes be graved To look their last, as the flag floats past, On the country they have saved And the answer came: The figures Shall all be fair and brave, And, as befitting, as pure and white As the stars above their grave! The marble lips, and breast and brow Whereon the laurel lies, Bequeath us right to guard the flight Of the old flag in the skies! A monument for the Soldiers! Built of a peoples love, And blazoned and decked and panoplied With the hearts ye build it of! And see that ye build it stately, In pillar and niche and gate, And high in pose as the souls of those It would commemorate! A THE RIVAL I SO loved once, when Death came by I hid Away my face, And all my sweethearts tresses she undid To make my hiding-place. The dread shade passe. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: . . . might Crouch guarding some enchanted gem of charm--Wilds of Carmarthen, that for me each night Reecho prayers and pleadings, --all the year Unanswered, made to listening waters, --white, The bitter white of Winter, and the clear Cool eyes of girlish Springtide, and the slow Sweet gaze of languid Summer, and the dear Dark eyes of tristful Autumn saw me so, Unhappy, lost among your moaning hills! Should any ripple tremble into glow, When yeasty moonshine scuds the foam, there thrills Hearts expectation through glad veins and high With She! each pulse the exultation fills. But shet is never. Once. . . and then would I Had falln abolished so beholding!. . . World, What sadder hast than beauty that must die--Once I beheld her!--if some fiend had curled Stiff talons through my hair, and, twisting tight, Scoffed, Burn and be! then into hell had hurled Me satisfied with beauty--beautys white Bloom heavenizing hell--I, unamerced, Shackled with tortures, might have mocked hells spite. Immortal memory of love, I thirst! O starlike beauty that the memory wove, In that I love thee am I so accursed--Oh, mak; me mad with love, with all thy love! Who tell it to these wilds when midnights gloom Storms or drip gold from sibylline stars above: Let thy high favor all heavens fires consume! Quench with thy starry presence! and make mad Me with sweet madness! slay me with perfume! Sleep may I not now for all sleep is sad. Cheated of thee, sad are all tearful dreams A shadowy sorrow haunts with what hath clad Days tyrannous hope in life that only seems: And seeming hope forever needs must pine Seeking evasions that are form-fixed gleams. --Though thou be wrought from elements divine, And I crass earth exalted, which will think, Since I am thine this m. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub<

ISBN: 9781236031372

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 36 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purc… Plus…

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 36 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1836 Excerpt: . . . that perish in the grasp, --And while the nightmare, brooding oer your rest, Draws sighs and moans alternate from your breast, Let wizard fancy with its wand of power, Roll up the shadowy curtain of the hour, And to my soul the hidden things unfold, That night and silence in their bosom hold. Tis midnight, and the waveless sea of gloom Sinks the wide city to a dreamless tomb: No footfall wakes an echo in the street, No voices come from those who part or meet: No setting stars the lapsing hours reveal, But the dim Heavens are shut as with a seal! Hushed oer the awful scene of mimic death, Time folds his weary wing, and holds his breath. My eye is closed, yet lingering beams of light Steal oer the inward soul, like things of sight, Seeming the shapeless hues that dimly glide Within, when first the visual lid is tied; Yet as the spirit gazes, melting, take Pinions of fire, and bid a world awake! With glittering gold the starry heavens ascend, And skies auroral, oer the landscape bend. Glancing around on waving pinions fly, A thousand forms all radiant as the sky. Flashing, yet faint, they distant seem to glide, Like dreams away--light shadows oer a tide; Yet nearer seen, each brow is well defined, And the high impress speaks the lofty mind; Gazing they pass, with their keen vision bent, On the uncurtained bosom, deep, intent! Startled, and shrinking from a scene so new, My naked spirit all revealed to view, I turned around to seek some friendly guide, And found a gentle vision at my side. She spoke, and whispering in my wondering ear, Revealed the story that I burned to hear. Spirit of earth! I bid thee mark my theme, Nor hold this scene a light fantastic dream--A veil hangs lightly twixt thine earth and heaven, A thin partition which thy soul hath rive. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: . . . might Crouch guarding some enchanted gem of charm--Wilds of Carmarthen, that for me each night Reecho prayers and pleadings, --all the year Unanswered, made to listening waters, --white, The bitter white of Winter, and the clear Cool eyes of girlish Springtide, and the slow Sweet gaze of languid Summer, and the dear Dark eyes of tristful Autumn saw me so, Unhappy, lost among your moaning hills! Should any ripple tremble into glow, When yeasty moonshine scuds the foam, there thrills Hearts expectation through glad veins and high With She! each pulse the exultation fills. But shet is never. Once. . . and then would I Had falln abolished so beholding!. . . World, What sadder hast than beauty that must die--Once I beheld her!--if some fiend had curled Stiff talons through my hair, and, twisting tight, Scoffed, Burn and be! then into hell had hurled Me satisfied with beauty--beautys white Bloom heavenizing hell--I, unamerced, Shackled with tortures, might have mocked hells spite. Immortal memory of love, I thirst! O starlike beauty that the memory wove, In that I love thee am I so accursed--Oh, mak; me mad with love, with all thy love! Who tell it to these wilds when midnights gloom Storms or drip gold from sibylline stars above: Let thy high favor all heavens fires consume! Quench with thy starry presence! and make mad Me with sweet madness! slay me with perfume! Sleep may I not now for all sleep is sad. Cheated of thee, sad are all tearful dreams A shadowy sorrow haunts with what hath clad Days tyrannous hope in life that only seems: And seeming hope forever needs must pine Seeking evasions that are form-fixed gleams. --Though thou be wrought from elements divine, And I crass earth exalted, which will think, Since I am thine this m. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub<

ISBN: 9781236031372

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 30 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purc… Plus…

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 30 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1881 Excerpt: . . . not enough that trees do stand If their fruit fall and perish too. EPITAPH OF A STINKING POET. ERE stinks a Poet I confess, Yet wanting breath stinks so much less. r A Dittt To The Tune Of Cose Ferite, MADE BY LORENZO ALLEGRE TO ONE SLEEPING. To be sung. jgH Wonder! So fair a heaven, So fair, and c. And no Star shining. Ay me and no Star, and c. Tis past my divining. Yetjiay! May not perchance this be some rising Morn Which in the scorn Of our Worlds light discloses This air of violets, that sky of roses Tisso! An oriental sphere Doth open and appear, Ascending bright j Then since thy hymen I chant Mayst thou new pleasures grant, Admired light. EPITAPH ON SIR EDWARD SACKVILLES CHILD, WHO DIED IN HIS BIRTH. O EADER! here lies a child that never cried, And therefore never died. Twas neither old nor yong, Born to this and the other world in one. Let us then cease to moan, Nothing that ever died hath livd so long. XJSSING. OME hither, Womankind, and all their worth, Give me thy kisses as I call them forth; Give me thy billing kiss; that of the Dove, A Kiss of Love; The Melting Kiss, a Kiss that doth consume To a perfume; The extract Kiss, of every sweet a part; A Kiss of Art; The Kiss which ever stirs some new delight, A Kiss of Might; The twacking smacking Kiss, and when you cease, A Kiss of Peace; The Mustek Kiss, crotchet and quaver time; The Kiss of Rhyme j The Kiss bf Eloquence which doth belong Unto the tongue; The Kiss of all the Sciences in one, The Kiss alone. So tis enough. DITTT. TF you refuse me once, and think again, I will complain. You are deceived; Love is no work of Art, It must be got and born, Not made and worn, Or such wherein you have no part. Or do you think they more than once can die Whom you deny Who tell. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub, RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: . . . might Crouch guarding some enchanted gem of charm--Wilds of Carmarthen, that for me each night Reecho prayers and pleadings, --all the year Unanswered, made to listening waters, --white, The bitter white of Winter, and the clear Cool eyes of girlish Springtide, and the slow Sweet gaze of languid Summer, and the dear Dark eyes of tristful Autumn saw me so, Unhappy, lost among your moaning hills! Should any ripple tremble into glow, When yeasty moonshine scuds the foam, there thrills Hearts expectation through glad veins and high With She! each pulse the exultation fills. But shet is never. Once. . . and then would I Had falln abolished so beholding!. . . World, What sadder hast than beauty that must die--Once I beheld her!--if some fiend had curled Stiff talons through my hair, and, twisting tight, Scoffed, Burn and be! then into hell had hurled Me satisfied with beauty--beautys white Bloom heavenizing hell--I, unamerced, Shackled with tortures, might have mocked hells spite. Immortal memory of love, I thirst! O starlike beauty that the memory wove, In that I love thee am I so accursed--Oh, mak; me mad with love, with all thy love! Who tell it to these wilds when midnights gloom Storms or drip gold from sibylline stars above: Let thy high favor all heavens fires consume! Quench with thy starry presence! and make mad Me with sweet madness! slay me with perfume! Sleep may I not now for all sleep is sad. Cheated of thee, sad are all tearful dreams A shadowy sorrow haunts with what hath clad Days tyrannous hope in life that only seems: And seeming hope forever needs must pine Seeking evasions that are form-fixed gleams. --Though thou be wrought from elements divine, And I crass earth exalted, which will think, Since I am thine this m. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub<

ISBN: 9781236031372

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purc… Plus…

RareBooksClub. Paperback. New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 42 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.1in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: . . . might Crouch guarding some enchanted gem of charm--Wilds of Carmarthen, that for me each night Reecho prayers and pleadings, --all the year Unanswered, made to listening waters, --white, The bitter white of Winter, and the clear Cool eyes of girlish Springtide, and the slow Sweet gaze of languid Summer, and the dear Dark eyes of tristful Autumn saw me so, Unhappy, lost among your moaning hills! Should any ripple tremble into glow, When yeasty moonshine scuds the foam, there thrills Hearts expectation through glad veins and high With She! each pulse the exultation fills. But shet is never. Once. . . and then would I Had falln abolished so beholding!. . . World, What sadder hast than beauty that must die--Once I beheld her!--if some fiend had curled Stiff talons through my hair, and, twisting tight, Scoffed, Burn and be! then into hell had hurled Me satisfied with beauty--beautys white Bloom heavenizing hell--I, unamerced, Shackled with tortures, might have mocked hells spite. Immortal memory of love, I thirst! O starlike beauty that the memory wove, In that I love thee am I so accursed--Oh, mak; me mad with love, with all thy love! Who tell it to these wilds when midnights gloom Storms or drip gold from sibylline stars above: Let thy high favor all heavens fires consume! Quench with thy starry presence! and make mad Me with sweet madness! slay me with perfume! Sleep may I not now for all sleep is sad. Cheated of thee, sad are all tearful dreams A shadowy sorrow haunts with what hath clad Days tyrannous hope in life that only seems: And seeming hope forever needs must pine Seeking evasions that are form-fixed gleams. --Though thou be wrought from elements divine, And I crass earth exalted, which will think, Since I am thine this m. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN., RareBooksClub<