most natural and so indifferentas if the tale ran that a while agothere died a man I talked with a chance hourwhen he by chance was near me. If I spoke‘Good news for us but ill news for the deadwhen the gods sweep a villain down to them,’’twas the prompt trick of words, like a…
Thine and mine;Mar not Now with needing more.Neither speak of yesterdays;Lose not Now with backward gaze,Lingering on what went before.Watch for all to-day’s new flowers,Mine and thine,Else to-day were incomplete.Nay, but speak of morrows, sweet;Lest to-day seem loss of ours,Thine and mine,Leaving nought to come again.Nay, but speak of yesterdays,Lest, forgetting trodden ways,We have trodden…
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;Something that was has hushed, and will not be.Did it go yesterday?Or did it wane away with the old years?There hath not been farewell, nor watchers’ tears,Nor hopes, nor vain…
and not seen home nor one dear kindred face,and these abominable slugs, this guard,this driver, porters–what are they about?–keep us here motionless, two minutes, three.–Aha! at last!Good! We shall check our minutes;we’re flying after them, like a mad windchasing the leaves it has tossed on in front.Oh glorious wild speed, what giants’ play!and there are…
And lay them by the headstone, for my sake,My token and remembrance with the rest:But here, where in the brightening of the westI see her mountains grow into the sky,Her native world, and mine because of her,Here, where that low sigh of the pinewood’s stir,That was her dearest music, fills all sound,I am with her;And…
You remember, even when my heart was most gladAnd you used to let me dream at my will;And now I like better to watch the seaAnd the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest.You know they are full of chatter and glee,And I like the quietness best.Nay, mother, you look so grave.I know…
‘Read Modern History,’ ‘Trimmed up my grey hat,’‘Darned stockings,’ ‘Tatted,’ ‘Practised my new song,’‘Went to the daily service,’ ‘Took Bess soup,’‘Went out to tea.’ Poor simple diary!and did I write it? Was I this good girl,this budding colourless young rose of home?did I so live content in such a life,seeing no larger scope, nor asking…
Answered merely an answer to make,As stranger to stranger may;Answered enough with ”Twas yesterday,’And a talk of the journey travelled so fast.Had I said, ‘Since I dwelt here first have passedHundreds of years away’!Aye, and there be who, if they knew,Would envy me, as a cripple must long,Looking on limbs erect and strong,To have his…
Dost thou come whispering of hushed scenes like these,Languid in sunlight, while the drowsy deerCouch placidly at rest, and from the brakeThe song of fearless wild birds rings out clear,And groves and meadows and this baby lakeAre dreaming to thy dreaming lullaby?Art telling of hushed scenes like these? Awake,Answer, sweet dying wind, and do not…
And they should come at morn and look on meLying more white than I am wont, and stillIn the strong silence of unchanging sleep,And feel upon my brow the deepening chill,And know me gathered to His time-long keep,The quiet watcher over all men’s rest,And weep as those around a death-bed weep —There would no anguish…
