Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades; Vext the dim sea.
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades; Vext the dim sea.
O hard, when love and duty clash.
Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use.
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
As thro' the land at eve we went, And plucked the ripened ears, We fell out, my wife and I, O we fell out I know not why, And kissed again with tears.
Broad based upon her people's will, And compassed by the inviolate sea.
A still small voice spake unto me, Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be'
The splendour falls on castle walls; And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dyi.
My regret; Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.
Round thee with the breeze of song; To stir a little praise of dust.
The Sabbaths of Eternity, One Sabbath deep and wide -A light upon the shining sea -The Bridegroom with his bride.
For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight.
To-night the winds begin to rise; And roar from yonder dropping day; The last red leaf is whirled away, The rooks are blown about the skies.
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue.
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.
Sleep my little one, sleep my pretty one, sleep.
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, To full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
Peace come away we do him wrong; To sing so wildly let us go.
O sweet and far from cliff and scar; The horns of Elfland faintly blowing.
This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and bears a laden breast; Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of rest.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
Maybe she warn't a beauty- I niver giv it a thowt.
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay.
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
My purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles And see the great Achilles.
The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.
But ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be.
A critic is a louse in the locks of literature.
Thou madest man, he knows not why.
I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling.
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times.
We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.
All armed I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea.
But what am IAn infant crying in the night An infant crying for the light And with no language but a cry.
The kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.
Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form.
He seems to near and yet so far.
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
A simple maiden in her flower; Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories