Unto whose dwelling-place
Now doth my soul draw near!
How they so softly rest,
All in their silent graves,
Deep to corruption
Slowly don-sinking!
And they no longer weep,
Here, where complaint is still!
And they no longer feel,
Here, where all gladness flies!
And, by the cypresses
Softly o’ershadowed
Until the Angel
Calls them, they slumber!
Similar Posts
I know a maiden fair to see,
She can both false and friendly be,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!She has two eyes, so soft and brown,Take care!She gives a side-glance and looks down,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!And she has hair of a golden hue,Take care!And what she says, it is not true,Beware! Beware!Trust her not,She is fooling thee!She has…
Somewhat back from the village street
Across its antique porticoTall poplar-trees their shadows throw;And from its station in the hallAn ancient timepiece says to all, —‘Forever — never!Never — forever!’Half-way up the stairs it stands,And points and beckons with its handsFrom its case of massive oak,Like a monk, who, under his cloak,Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!With sorrowful voice to all who…
It was Sir Christopher Gardiner,
From Merry England over the sea,Who stepped upon this continentAs if his august presence lentA glory to the colony.You should have seen him in the streetOf the little Boston of Winthrop’s time,His rapier dangling at his feetDoublet and hose and boots complete,Prince Rupert hat with ostrich plume,Gloves that exhaled a faint perfume,Luxuriant curls and air…
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,Son of the road and bandit chief,Seeking refuge and relief,Up the mountain pathway flew.Such was Kyrat’s wondrous speed,Never yet could any steedReach the dust-cloud in his course.More than maiden, more than wife,More than gold and next to lifeRoushan the Robber loved his horse.In the land that lies beyondErzeroum and Trebizond,Garden-girt his fortress…
The jolly skipper paused awhile,
‘There is a Spectre Ship,’ quoth he,‘A ship of the Dead that sails the sea,And is called the Carmilhan.‘A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew,In tempests she appears;And before the gale, or against the gale,She sails without a rag of sail,Without a helmsman steers.‘She haunts the Atlantic north and south,But mostly the mid-sea,Where three great…
Beside the ungathered rice he lay,
His breast was bare, his matted hairWas buried in the sand.Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,He saw his Native Land.Wide through the landscape of his dreamsThe lordly Niger flowed;Beneath the palm-trees on the plainOnce more a king he strode;And heard the tinkling caravansDescend the mountain-road.He saw once more his dark-eyed queenAmong her children…