"And we shall be changed
""And we shall be changed
" Ye dainty mosses, lichens grey, Pressed each to each in tender fold, And peacefully thus, day by day, Returning to their mould; Brown leaves, that with aerial grace...
Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty
Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty:
Love given willingly, full and free,
Love for love's sake, - as mine to thee
MN to winter, winter into spring,
Spring into summer, summer into fall,-- So rolls the changing year, and so we change;
Motion so swift, we know not that we move
Till at the gate of some memorial hour We pause--look in its sepulchre...
I said to Lettice, our sister Lettice,
While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown,"Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man,
There's many a better about our town
"She smiled securely - "He loves me purely:
"Poor heart, what bitter words we speak When God speaks of resigning
" Children, that lay their pretty garlands by So piteously, yet with a humble mind;
Sailors, who, when their ship rocks in the wind,
Cast out her freight...
A
RL, who has so many wilful ways She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him;
Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise,
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze,
"She loves with love that cannot tire: And if, ah, woe
she loves alone, Through passionate duty love flames higher, As grass grows taller round a stone
" Coventry Patmore
SO, the truth's out
At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Said I mournful - Though my life be in its prime,
Bare lie my meadows all shorn before their time,
O'er my sere woodlands the leaves are turning brown;
Stars trembling o'er us and sunset before us,
Mountains in shadow and forests asleep;
Down the dim river we float on forever,
Speak not, ah, breathe not - there's peace on the deep
NT and sunny was the way Where Youth and I danced on together:
So winding and embowered o'er,
We could not see one rood before
Nevertheless all merrily We bounded onward,
O the green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,
Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing
RE est orare:
We, black-visaged sons of toil,
From the coal-mine and the anvil And the delving of the soil,-- From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse,
And the ever-whirling mill,