The Ballad Of Glastonbury (Henry Alford Poems)
The hills have on their royal robes Of purple and of gold, And over their tops the autumn clouds In heaps are onward ...
The hills have on their royal robes Of purple and of gold, And over their tops the autumn clouds In heaps are onward ...
The night that is now past hath been to me A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft Have I been whirled aloft ...
``Here is no place for greeting: fly afar Before the absent sisterhood return. In my well--sembled agony, yon star I watched, whose westering ...
It is the solemn midnight; and the moon Hard by the zenith holds her solemn state, And yon flushed star will westward ...
Darkly the minster--towers, against the glow of the sunset,Rise from the purple band of mist that beleaguers the city:Golden the ...
``Child, whither goest thou Over the snowy hill? The frost--air nips so keen That the very clouds are still: From the golden folding curtains The ...
My blessed child! Last Sunday morn, That Feast of all the year, We held thee in our wearied arms, Distraught with hope and ...
When the thing thou lovest is not one That thou canst beg a blessing on; When the thing thou lovest puts a ...
Thou wert fair, Lady Mary, As the lily in the sun: And fairer yet thou mightest be, Thy youth was but begun: Thine eye ...
I know not how the right may be:-- But I give thanks whene'er I see Down in the green slopes of the ...
My fairy girl, amidst her mirthful play, Suddenly kneeling, clasps her hands in one, And prays the words she has been taught ...
"There is one baptism:'' thus wrote holy Paul-- Behold its only trace, yon ancient stone Forth to dishonour and destruction thrown, Catching the ...
Be it not mine in these high aisles to tread Lightly, with scornful or with pitying gaze, Viewing these worshippers, who on ...
Child of our love, thou sleepest softly now In our dear home perchance, with thine own smile Resting upon thy rosy lips, ...
Half way upon the cliff I musing stood O'er thy sea--fronting hollow, while the smoke Curled from thy cottage chimneys through the ...
From our aisles of places holy, From our dwellings calm and lowly, On the autumn breezes slowly Swells the sound of prayer: God! before ...
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