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10. “I wish that he were come to me,

For he will come," she said. “Have I not prayed in Heaven ?-on earth,

Lord, Lord, has he not prayed ?
Are not two prayers a perfect strength ?

And shall I feel afraid?"

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3. Life's but a means unto an end; that end Beginning, mean, and end of all things,— God. The dead have all the glory of the world.

Remorseless Time!
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe — what power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
His iron heart with pity!

“In men whom men condemn as ill
I find so much of goodness still, -
In men whom men pronounced divine

I find so much of sin and blot,
I hesitate to draw a line
Between the two where God does not."

Thus much, no more we know;

He bade what is be so,
Bade light be and bade night be, one by one;

Bade hope and fear, bade ill

And good redeem and kill,
Till all men be aweary of the sun

And this world burn in its own flame
And bear no witness longer of his name.

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where fortune smiles, the wretched he forsakes:
Swift on his downy pinions flies from woe,
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.

8. Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?


O God! make free
This barren shackled earth, so deadly cold

Breathe gently forth thy spring, till winter flies In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold,

While she performs her 'customed charities; I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare,O God, for one clear day, a snowdrop, and

sweet air!

14. O Fame! on thy pillar so steady, Some dupes watch beneath thee in vain: How many have done it already! How many will do it again.


15. If wrong you do, if false you play,

In summer among the flowers, You must atone, you shall repay,

In winter among the showers.

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21. Traveller, what lies over the hill ?

Traveller tell to me:
Tiptoe-high on the window-sill

Over I cannot see.”

22. One sells his soul; another squanders it; The first buys up the world, the second starves.

Still to fools the fleeting pleasure
Buys the lasting pain.

24. See! what a treasure rare I hold with fingers aglow!

-'T is full of the bright

Subdued sunlight
Which shone in the scented hair
Of a maiden I once held fair;

And I puzzle my brains to know
If the heart of the beautiful girl

Hath kept the light of the Long Ago, As long as the yellow curl?

I loved thee, beautiful and kind

And plighted an eternal vow;
So alter'd are thy face and mind,
'T were perjury to love thee now.

To-day, in my ride, I've been crowning

The beacon; its magic still lures; For up there you discoursed about Browning,

That stupid old Browning of yours.
His vogue and his verse are alarming,

I'm anxious to give him his due;
But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming
A poet as you.

32. Wish no word unspoken, want no look away! What if words were but mistake, and looks too

sudden, say! Be unjust for once, Love! Bear it — well I may! Do me justice always ? Bid my heart - their

shrine Tender back its store of gifts, old looks and words

of thine - Oh, so all unjust -- the less deserved, the more

divine ?

25. Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!
Leave the low-vaulted past;

43. I thought of Chatterton, the marvelous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.

33. October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one

lingers: Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold,

Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

44. We never can overdo the luck that can never be.

34. When I was young there seemed to be No pleasure in the world for me; My fellows found it everywhere, Was none so poor but had his share --

They took mine, too!

45. God who takes, like God who gives, Is God the same — All glory to his name! So if he gives or if he takes It still is for our sakes.


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.. There is but one

Love-story in this withered world, forsooth; And it is brief, and ends, where it began

( What if I tell, in play, the dreary truth ?),
With something we call Youth.

She leans to man - but just to hear
The praise he whispers in her ear,
Herself, not him, she holdeth dear.

Honor no second place for truth can keep.

Our earliest longings prophecy the man,

Our fullest wisdom still enfolds the child; And in my life I trace that larger plan Whereby at last all things are reconciled.

50. Fair are the flowers and the children, but their

subtle suggestion is fairer; Rare is the rose-burst of dawn, but the secret that

clasps it is rarer; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that

precedes it is sweeter; And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the metre.

51. As dyed in blood, the streaming vines appear,

While long and low the wind about them grieves; The heart of Autumn must have broken here, And poured its treasures out upon the leaves.

52. Oh sweet it is when hope's white arms are wreathing

Necks bowed with sorrow, as they droop forlorn!
But ah! the imperishable pathos breathing
About those dead whom we no longer mourn!

We are the music makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams;

39. Thus it is all over the earth;

That which we call the fairest, And prize for its surpassing worth,

Is always rarest.

40. A flower on the highway-side. Enjoy its grace; But turn not from thy road, nor slacken pace!

41. The past is Past; survey its course no more; Henceforth our glasses sweep the further shore.


A comedy so warm, So pitiful, that, let those laugh who can, I weep.

World-losers and world-forsakers,

On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers

Of the world forever, it seems.

62. Beethoven, Raphael, cannot reach The charm which Homer, Shakespeare teach. To these, to these, their thankful race Gives, then, the first, the fairest place; And brightest is their glory's sheen, For greater has their labor been.

54 One day at a time! Every heart that aches

Knows only too well how long that can seem. But, it's never to-day which the spirit breaks, It's the darkened future without a gleam.


I have seen
The gray gorse bushes in their flowering time;
I kno the scent of bean-fields; I have heard
The satisfying murmur of the main.

God's prophets of the beautiful.

63. In the work-a-day world, — for its needs and woes, There is place and enough for the pains of prose; But whenever the May-bells clash and chime, Then hey!- for the ripple of laughing rhyme!

57. They leave all hope behind who enter there:

One certitude while sane they cannot leave, One anodyne for torture and despair;

The certitude of Death, which no reprieve Can put off long; and which, vinely tender, But waits the outstretched hand to promptly

render That draught whose slumber nothing can bereave.

God sets some souls in shade, alone;
They have no daylight of their own;
Only in lives of happier ones
They see the shine of distant suns.

Hearts that are great are always lone,

They never will manifest their best;
Their greatest greatness is unknown -
Earth knows a little, God the rest.

Ah me! how regally the heavens look down,

O'ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods, And harvest-fields with hoarded incense brown,

And deep-toned majesty of golden floods, That lift their solemn dirges to the sky,

To swell the purple pomp that floateth by!

64. His rhyme the poet Alings at all men's feet,

And whoso will may trample on his rhymes. Should Time let die that's true and sweet The singer's loss were more than match'd by Time's.

65. Love laid down his golden head

On his mother's knee: “ The world runs round so fast "- he said

“None has time for me." Thought, a sage unhonor'd, turn'd

From the on-rushing crew;
Song her starry legend spurn'd;

Art her glass down threw.
Roll on, blind world! upon thy track

Until thy wheels catch fire:
For that is gone which comes not back

To seller nor to buyer.

66. I never could find

suitable friction To frenzy my mind.

What use are empirics? No gas on their shelf

Can make one spout lyrics In spite of oneself!

67. I, who know it, think upon it,

Not unhappy, tho' in tears, And I gather in a sonnet

All the glory of the years: And I kiss and clasp a shadow

When the substance disappears.

61. True worth is in being, not seeming,

In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in dreaming

Of great things to do by and by; For whatever men say in their blindness,

And spite of the fancies of youth, There is nothing so kingly as kindness,

And nothing so royal as truth.

68. Truths half drawn from Nature's breast,

Through subtlest types of form and tone, Outweigh what man at most hath guessed,

While heeding his own heart alone.

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