The Vision of Sir Launfal: And Other Poems,

Allyn & Bacon, 1900 - 72页



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第51页 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek.
第xii页 - This crust is My body broken for thee, 320 This water His blood that died on the tree ; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need : Not what we give, but what we share, — For the gift without the giver is bare ; 325 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.
第ii页 - And what is so rare as a day in June ? Then, if ever, come perfect days ; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 35 And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, And, groping blindly above it for light,
第37页 - But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders, The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and preaching ; His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well, But he'd rather by half make a drum of the
第vi页 - Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, And seemed the one blot on the summer morn — So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. VI. The leper raised not the gold from the dust : " Better to me the poor man's crust, 160 Better the blessing of the poor, Though I turn me empty from his door
第39页 - he Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee. 35 The side of our country must oilers be took, An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country. An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry ; An
第ii页 - The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace ; The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
第39页 - We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't, 30 We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage, An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint ; But John P. Eobinson he Sez this kind o
第9页 - RHŒCUS. GOD sends his teachers unto every age, To every clime, and every race of men, With revelations fitted to their growth And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth Into the selfish rule of one sole race : 5 Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed
第24页 - More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 50 Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book.