O That 't Were Possible For a tumult shakes the city, Get thee hence, nor come again, Then I rise, the eave-drops fall, Thro' the hubbub of the market It crosses here, it crosses there. Thro' all that crowd confused and loud, And on my heavy eyelids My anguish hangs like shame. Alas for her that met me, That heard me softly call, 80 Came glimmering thro' the laurels At the quiet evenfall, In the garden by the turrets Of the old manorial hall! Would the happy spirit descend But the broad light glares and beats, And I loathe the squares and streets, Hearts with no love for me: Always I long to creep Into some still cavern deep, There to weep, and weep, and weep My whole soul out to thee. 1855. LONGING Lord Tennyson. COME to me in my dreams, and then For then the night will more than pay 98 888 Meeting at Night Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times, Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth, Come to me in my dreams, and then For then the night will more than pay 1 The hopeless longing of the day. 1852. 8 12 16 Matthew Arnold. I MEETING AT NIGHT THE gray sea and the long black land; Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; 6 A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, 12 II PARTING AT MORNING ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, 1845. Robert Browning. MISCONCEPTIONS THIS is a spray the Bird clung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. Oh, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to, So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! This is a heart the Queen leant on, 7 A Dead Rose Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic. Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went onLove to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on! 14 Robert Browning. 1855. A DEAD ROSE O ROSE, who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft nor sweet, But pale and hard and dry as stubble wheat,Kept seven years in a drawer, thy title shames thee. The breeze that used to blow thee Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away An odour up the lane to last all day,If breathing now, unsweetened would forego thee. The sun that used to smite thee, And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn burn, 4 If shining now, with not a hue would light thee. 12 The dew that used to wet thee, And, white first, grow incarnadined because If dropping now, would darken where it met thee. 16 |