Glowing in every vein to feel
The cordial caress of steel
From spear-blue air and sword-blue sea,
Armour of England’s liberty.
Similar Posts
Look up, desponding hearts! See, Morning sallies
And speeds her glittering lances on the valleysWhere hostile mists, unconscious, slumber still.Roused from their vain security, they clamberUp the far slopes and seek the open sky,Till hill and dale are tinged with gold and amber,The spoils of victory from those that fly.Thus when, as though surrendered to the Night,Men’s spirits sleep, shall wakeful Freedom…
The curtains of the Night were folded
So that the things I saw were mouldedI know not how nor whence.Straight I beheld a marble city,Built upon wayward slopes,Along whose paths, as if for pity,Ran tight-drawn golden ropes.Withal, of many who ascended,No one appeared to useThis help, allowed in days since mended,When folks had frailer thews.The men, all animal in vigour,Strode stalwart and…
Hail! once again, that sweet strong note!
Thou quaverest with thy mottled throat,Brave minstrel of bleak March!Hearing thee flute, who pines or grievesFor vernal smiles and showers?Thy voice is greener than the leaves,And fresher than the flowers.Scorning to wait for tuneful MayWhen every throat can sing,Thou floutest Winter with thy lay,And art thyself the Spring.While daffodils, half mournful still,Muffle their golden bells,Thy…
Why, rapturous bird, though shades of night
Singest thou still with all thy might,As though ’twere noon, as though ’twere dawn?Silence darkens on vale and hill,But thou, unseen, art singing still.‘Tis because, though in dusky bower,With love delighted still thou art;Nor hath the deepening twilight powerTo lay a curfew on thy heart.Thou lovest; and, loving, dost prolongThe sense of sunlight with thy…
Had you but shown me living what you show,
And I but known what vainly now I know,Lying here alone, how happy had I been!If you with smiles had gladdened our joint home,As now you drench my tenement with tears,Up life’s ascent together had we clomb,And traversed hand-in-hand the slope of years.Still is it solacing to feel you layUpon my sepulchre devoted flowers,When hitherward…
`Covet who will the patronage of Kings,
Splendour, and revelry, and all that bringsA thousand bitter thoughts, a world of woe:A meadow glistening in an April shower,A green-banked rivulet, and, near his nest,A blackbird carolling in guelder bower,‘Tis these that soothe and satisfy the breast.’