Through the Year with the Poets, Band 1

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Seite 84 - My breath to heaven like vapor goes : May my soul follow soon ! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies.
Seite 111 - Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Seite 57 - And in the nights of winter, When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow ; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within...
Seite 37 - WOODS IN WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale.
Seite 65 - BLAND as the morning breath of June The southwest breezes play ; And, through its haze, the winter noon Seems warm as summer's day. The snow-plumed Angel of the North Has dropped his icy spear ; Again the mossy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear. The fox his hillside cell forsakes, The muskrat leaves hia nook, The bluebird in the meadow brakes Is singing with the brook. " Bear up, O Mother Nature ! " cry Bird, breeze, and streamlet free ; " Our winter voices prophesy Of summer days to...
Seite 85 - St Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold : Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while...
Seite 21 - Then came old January, wrapped well In many weeds to keep the cold away; Yet did he quake and quiver, like to quell, And blowe his nayles to warme them if he may; For they were numbd with holding all the day An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray: Upon an huge great Earth-pot steane he stood, From whose wide mouth there flowed forth the Romane Flood.
Seite 57 - m growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me. To THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass ; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass...
Seite 30 - Is restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep, Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells, Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells: But nearer land you may the billows trace, As if contending in their watery chase; May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, Then...
Seite 66 - The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling.

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