Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my king!
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UNTIL her death!" the words read strange yet real, Like things afar off suddenly brought near:--
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THE good ship lies in the crowded dock, Fair as a statue, firm as a rock:
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A CHILD'S smile--nothing more; Quiet, and soft, and grave, and seldom seen;
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TUNE--"God rest ye, merry gentleman." GOD rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,
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LITTLE soul, for such brief space that entered In this little body straight and chilly,
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LACK-LUSTRE eye, and idle wing, And smirchèd breast that skims no more,
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WHERE shall we sail to-day?"--Thus said, methought, A voice that only could be heard in dreams:
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SO heavenly beautiful it lay, It was less like a human corse
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SILENT and sunny was the way Where Youth and I danced on together:
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OLD friend, that with a pale and pensile grace Climbest the lush hedgerows, art thou back again,
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WITH steady march across the daisy meadow, And by the churchyard wall we go;
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A WIND-SWEPT tulip-bed--a colored cloud Of butterflies careering in the air--
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IT is the Christmas time: And up and down 'twixt heaven and earth,
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"PRAISE God from whom all blessings flow."
Praise Him who sendeth joy and woe.
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No, I'll not say your name. I have said it now, As you mine, first in childish treble, then
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YOU said, last night, you did not think In all the world of men
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THERE was a marriage-table where One sate, Haply, unnoticed, till they craved His aid:
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A FRIEND stands at the door; In either tight-closed hand
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SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence I know not, rose upon this mortal frame
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You "never loved me," Ada. These slow words Dropped softly from your gentle woman-tongue
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"O HEART, my heart!" she said, and heard His mate the blackbird calling,
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"Emelie, that fayrer was to seene Than is the lilye on hys stalke grene.....
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IF, coming from that unknown sphere Where I believe thou art,--
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O HOW beautiful is Morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies,
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JAMES BRAIDWOOD: Died June 22, 1861. NOT at the battle front,--writ of in story;
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YE are twa laddies unco gleg, An' blithe an' bonnie:
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WE never had believed, I wis, At primrose time when west winds stole
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THIS is a day the Lord hath made."--Thus spake The good religious heart, unstained, unworn,
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REST--rest--four little letters, one short word, Enfolding an infinitude of bliss--
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