From whomsoe'er I've sought for troth but bitterest disdain I've seen;
Whome'er within this faithless world I've trusted, all most vain I've seen.
He left his home with a bounding heart,
For the world was all before him;
Out of the deep are we,
Out of that inland sea
WHEN, on an empty night in later years
Thou ponderest over sorrowful sweet things,
In the cold change which time hath wrought on love
(The snowy winter of his summer prime),
Good-bye! -- 'tis like a churchyard bell -- good-bye!
Poor weeping eyes! Poor head, bowed down with woe!
In the old Strauss waltz for the first time
We had listened to your quiet call,
Come, come, I faint: thy heavy stay
Doubles each houre of the day:
She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
Cuddling in the arms her half-asphyxiated baby, howling,
she ran up the staircase of the apartment building that was set ablaze.
O’Shea was a big railway ganger, clean-hearted, and clean-limbed and shy,
With a glint of grey hair at his temples, and smile in his Irish blue eye;
¡Oh dulces prendas, por mi mal halladas,
dulces y alegres cuando Dios quería!
OUT from the City’s dust and roar,
You wandered through the open door;
"She struck one night on a sunken ledge
Off the Scillies, homeward bound,
Sister darling, ope the window, let the balmy air once
more
What woe is thine, pale mother?--say
What grief devours thy heart? For aye
I am no more but you live on,
And the wind, whining and complaining,
my mother's pain, was thrust into the light
as my land sank in angry, burning night.
Other hearts have broken gracefully, for your sake,
And now your eyes reproach me that my ache
Morne esprit, autrefois amoureux de la lutte, L'Espoir, dont l'éperon attisait ton ardeur,
Let the harp be mute for ever,
Rosa wakes no more the strain,
TO break the stillness of the hour
There is no sound, no voice, no stir;
Serene as ever waits the tireless train,
The signals blink their wistful lamps beyond
They threw him in a prison cell;
He moaned upon his bed.
LIFE’S Angel watched a happy child at play,
Wreathing the riches of the blushing May:
And, now, a vacancy occurs,
For very nearly sixteen years,
NOW, sitting by her side, worn out with weeping,
Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision,
What story is here of broken love,
What idyllic sad romance,
Suddenly laughter was turned to sorrow
Silent and white like the mist
O AYE! they had woone child bezide, An' a finer your eyes never met,
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