Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay,
My Lady B– comes and rakes it up.”
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Love thy mother, little one!
Hereafter she may have a sonWill kiss and clasp her neck in vain.Love thy mother, little one!Gaze upon her living eyes,And mirror back her love for thee,—Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighsTo meet them when they cannot see.Gaze upon her living eyes!Press her lips the while they glowWith love that they have often told,—Hereafter thou mayst…
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
That sometime these bright stars, that now replyIn sunlight to the sun, shall set in night;That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite,And all life’s ruddy springs forget to flow;That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spriteBe lapped in alien clay and laid below;It is not death to know this,–but to knowThat pious thoughts, which…
I had a gig-horse, and I called him Pleasure
He was so fast and showy, quite a treasure;Although he sometimes kicked and shied aslant.I had a chaise, and christened it Enjoyment,With yellow body and the wheels of red,Because it was only used for one employment,Namely, to go wherever Pleasure led.I had a wife, her nickname was Delight:A son called Frolic, who was never still:Alas!…
Unfathomable Night! how dost thou sweep
The mighty city under thy full tide;Making a silent palace for old Sleep,Like his own temple under the hush’d deep,Where all the busy day he doth abide,And forth at the late dark, outspreadeth wideHis dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep!How peacefully the living millions lie!Lull’d unto death beneath his poppy spells;There is no breath—no…
It was not in the Winter
It was the time of roses—We pluck’d them as we pass’d!That churlish season never frown’dOn early lovers yet:O no—the world was newly crown’dWith flowers when first we met!‘Twas twilight, and I bade you go,But still you held me fast;It was the time of roses—We pluck’d them as we pass’d!
I
That classic house, those classic groundsMy pensive thought recalls!What tender urchins now confine,What little captives now repine,Within yon irksome walls?IIAy, that’s the very house! I knowIts ugly windows, ten a-row!Its chimneys in the rear!And there’s the iron rod so high,That drew the thunder from the skyAnd turn’d our table-beer!IIIThere I was birch’d! there I was…