A Household Book of English Poetry: Selected and Arranged with Notes
General
A Household Book of English Poetry: Selected and Arranged with Notes
American poetry; English poetry
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan; 40
They might lament--for I am one
Whom men love not, and yet regret;
Unlike this day, which, when the sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. 45
_Percy Bysshe Shelley._
CCXXIX
_DESPONDENCY REBUKED._
Say not, the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 5
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain, 10
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 15
But westward, look, the land is bright.
_Arthur Hugh Clough._
CCXXX
_THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS._
Oft in the stilly night
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me:
The smiles, the tears 5
Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken! 10
Thus in the stilly light
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all 15
The friends so linked together
I’ve seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone 20
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus in the stilly night 25
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
_Thomas Moore._
CCXXXI
_DIRGE._
If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love, and all its smart--
Then sleep, dear, sleep!
And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on your eyelashes; 5
Lie still and deep,
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o’ the sun to-morrow
In Eastern sky.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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