Lines For A Sun-Dial
With shadowy pen I write, Till time be done, Good news of some strange light,
Some far off sun
With shadowy pen I write, Till time be done, Good news of some strange light,
Some far off sun
UT where's the brown drifter that went out alone
-Roll and go, and fare you well-" Was her name Peggy Nutten
" That name is my own
Fare you well, my sailor
Long, long ago,
He said,
He who could wake the
And walk upon the sea-"Come, follow Me
Dark, dark, lay the drifters, against the red west,
As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
And the oily green waters were rocking to rest When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide
And nobody knew where that lassie wo...
How like the sky she bends above her child, One with the great horizon of her pain
No sob from our low seas where woe runs wild, No weeping cloud, no momentary rain,
Can mar the heaven-high visage of her grief, That frozen anguish, proud...
Carol, every violet
Heaven for a looking-glass
Every little valley
Under many-clouded skies;
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men,
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again
Everyone grumbled
The sky was grey
We had nothing to do and nothing to say
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
Now, in a breath, we’ll burst those gates of gold, And ransack heaven before our moment fails
Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old, We’ll mount and sing and spread immortal sails
It is not time that makes eternity
Love and an ...
They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,—Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down
—Sea-lark singing to Golden Feather,
And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'
There's Thunderstone butting ahead as they wallow,
ST as any soldier of the
He served his England, with the imminent
Poised at his heart
Nor could the world
In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken,
When the laborers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will,
When the censers of the roses o'er the forest aisles are shaken,
Is it but the wind that cometh o'er...