O sleep! O sleep! Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep, Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand Over the lids that crave thy visits bland, Thou kind, thou comforting one. For I have seen his face, as I desired, And all my story is done. O, I am tired.
How short our happy days appear! How long the sorrowful!
Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.
Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!
When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.
And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
A birthday:-and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife- A thoughtful day from dawn to close: The middle day of human life.
There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.
Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.
Quoth the Ocean, "Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland; For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, How fine, how blest a thing is work! For work does good when reasons fail.
And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.
People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.
Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man. Behold, "There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well: In that thou sayest all. To Be is more Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought, Or reigned, or rested.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
And the guelder rose In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped, Her wealth about her feet.
O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
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