After Sunset |
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Common terms and phrases
ALLERSEELEN BIRD OF PARADISE blackbird singing blind river blossom blue boughs breast bright buds child is grown CHILD'S GARDEN cold dawn dead Dear Death deep dream eyes fade faëry fall Fcap feathered flowers garden wastes GOD'S ACRE gold GOLDEN TOUCH golden trees golden wings grass grave green grows gypsy hear heart heart of youth hollow HOUSE DESOLATE jewelled LA MARMOTTE light little child little feet lonely magic magic hour MARMOTTE Marriott Watson meadows mist moon murmur NOCTURN old clock once orchard orchard-close pale POEMS purple rain robin sings rose RUINED ALTAR scythe SEPTEMBER SONG shadow shine ship sighs silver skies Sleep smiles snow SONG OF SONGS sound stars stir strange Summer sunset sweet tall ships tell thrushes Tick-tock TIME-TRAVELLER to-night Twas twilight Vespertilia VISCOUNT KITCHENER voice wandering watch weeping WHITE BIRD wild bird wind blows wood Youth
Popular passages
Page 89 - ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON They say the night has fallen chill — But I know naught of mist or rain, Only of two small hands that still Beat on the darkness all in vain. They say the wind blows high and wild Down the long valleys to the sea; But I can only hear the child, Who weeps in darkness, wanting me. Beyond the footfalls in the street, Above the voices of the bay, I hear the sound of little feet, Two little stumbling feet astray. Oh, loud the autumn wind makes moan, The desolate wind about my...
Page 86 - The fish-tailed merchild carved in crumbling stone Wreathed with loose straggling roses, reigns alone, Th' abandoned idol still smiles gravely on. The other child is gone. New play, new paths, the old sweet hours disown ; Poor graven image on your rain-worn throne Smiling the foolish smile, Rose petals fall around you yet awhile, Nor may I mourn this little plot defaced, The bare nest whence the fledgling bird has flown, His garden-waste : The little child is grown.
Page 75 - And after a time he returned to take her, and he turned aside to see the carcase of the lion: and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcase of the lion.
Page 17 - Sweet, sweet, and hollow, to the cuckoo's song ; Filled with a mellow lustre all day long, And lit by golden lamps at evening. No more the enchanted woods — their purple haze Enveils them yet — but closed are all the ways — The elfin meadows glimmer, deep in dew, Misty with flowers — but we have lost the clue; There is no path into the magic maze. These were youth's emissaries, every one, The darting birds between the orchard snows. . 'Twas Youth that blossomed lovelier than the rose, And...
Page 16 - What, O my heart, is wanting more than these ? What shall content if these may not avail ? . . . Once on a time 'twas joy enough to lie Beneath the young leaves and the limpid sky, A spell-bound traveller in a fairy-tale. Oh ! nevermore for us the Palace of Spring, No more those haunted chambers echoing Sweet, sweet, and hollow, to the cuckoo's song ; Filled with a mellow lustre all day long, And lit by golden lamps at evening.
Page 3 - Relights the blown-out lamps o' the faded eyes, Touches the clay-bound lips to tenderest speech, Saying, " Awake — arise ! " To-day the warm hands of the living reach To chafe the cold hands of the long-loved dead ; Once more the lonely head Leans on a living breast, and feels the rain Of falling tears, and listens yet again To the dear voice — the voice that never in vain Could sound the old behest. Each seeks his own to-day ; — but, ah, not I — I enter not That sacred shrine beneath the...
Page 85 - ... summer's prime Wrought in his glory, sun-flushed and bemired, With spade and water-can, nor ever tired, Yet found the bedward stair so steep to climb. Pink and forget-me-not and mignonette, Red double daisies accurately set, We had them all by heart and more beside, Purple and yellow pansies, solemn-eyed As little owlets in their tufted bowers. . . . The weeds have come and driven forth the flowers. Summer with all her roses onward hastes. The garden wastes — This poor small garden, sweet in...
Page 22 - THE air is dark and sweet This wet spring night — Spring, of the wandering feet; The secret flight, Calls through the slow, soft rain — O voice of gold ! Calls to me once again, As oft of old. The darkness sighs and stirs, Blind, blind and slow...
Page 23 - Oh, far or near, The spring could never call And I not hear : Deep under graveyard grass, It could not be, The spring could never pass And I not see . . . My heart, my heart would break Could it be so — To think that spring should wake And I not know.
Page 104 - Pall Mall Magazine, for example, began with mobile rhythms and evocative sibilants in keeping with the wind she evoked: The high pagodas of the pine Through whose dim floors the south wind sings, Whose jeweled tassels toss and shine, Astir with airy whisperings, — There, where green jalousies divide, Shift — for an instant blown aside — I see a glint of rainbow wings. But she contented herself in the second stanza with comparing the glinting wings to "Little People" who "dance and play" in...