Does it not come upon mortals,
Learned or heedless!
Out of this stony rubbish?
We who'd the ducats fast.
There but wild oats and barren darnel spring;
For tender violet and bright
Thistle and prickly thorn uprear their heads.
And look from azure into azure sky,
And paradise achieve, death's part.
Lyche a yonge wolfynne & strynge,
Soe dydde he goe, & myghtie warriours hedde;
Wythe gore-depycted wynges masterie arounde hym fledde.
Imbibing virtue by his hand
As if it were a living root;
The pulse of hands will make him mute;
With all his force he gathers balms
Into those wise, thrilling palms.
ne la mia mente, disse: < t'hanno Serafi e Cherubi.
To gather what we shall be when the frame
Shall be resolved to less than this
Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame,
And wipe the dust from off the idle name
We never more shall hear,--but never more,
Oh, happier thought!
Laid them upon his breast;
buried
Him whom we loved the best;
Cleanly to bind him
Took we the fondest care,
Ah!
Then hurried in and bought
'Two kippers, please.
A story lingereth yet,
A voice of the old,
That tells of the Lamb of Gold:
A lamb from a mother mild,
But the gold of it curled and beat;
And Pan, who holdeth the keys of the wild,
Bore it to Atreus' feet:
His wild reed pipes he blew,
And the reeds were filled with peace,
And a joy of singing before him flew,
Over the fiery fleece:
And up on the based rock,
As a herald cries, cried he:
"Gather ye, gather, O Argive folk,
The King's Sign to see,
The sign of the blest of God,
For he that hath this, hath all!
I stood upon the shore of a mighty glorious sea.
(For your dear wife, his friend) 2 November 1877
- 'Over the lost woods when dark winter lowers
You moan, O solitary captive of the threshold,
That this double tomb which our pride should hold's
Cluttered, alas, only with absent weight of flowers.
"O
pays for all,
Whatever lot our bodies know, fate befall,
We hold the line!
And he reeled and forward.
(Which, haply, into one region of the sky
Collects those clouds) hath pressed from out the same
The many fiery seeds, and with that fire
Hath at the same time inter-mixed itself,
O then and there that wind, a whirlwind now,
Deep in the belly of the cloud spins round
In narrow confines, and sharpens there inside
In glowing the thunderbolt.
a split leaf on the paved floor--
I am anguished--defeated.
With the Virtues meet,
Find to their design
An seat,
By green orchard boughs
Fended from the heat,
here the statesman ploughs
Furrow for the wheat,--
When the Church is social worth,
When the state-house is the hearth,
Then the perfect State is come,
The republican at home.
In one corner agile incest
Turns round the of a little dress
In one corner sky released
leaves balls of white on the spines of storm.
With wine enough to drink to our fill,
Long I sang to the tune of the Pine-tree Wind;
When the song was over, the River-stars[46] were few.
Was Nature's, uttered from her Alpine throne;
I heard it then and seem to hear it now--
"Your impious work forbear, perish what may,
Let this one temple last, be this one spot
Of earth devoted to
How much I was
The hermit never spoke of what he'd seen;
But, from the youth's discernment, strove to hide,
Whate'er love, and much beside,
The softer sex, with all their magick charms,
That fill the feeling bosom with alarms.
editions, all of which are as Public Domain in the U.
Son regard de vigueur et de graces arme,
Ses cheveux qui lui font un casque parfume,
Et dont le souvenir pour l'amour me ravive.
He halts on Arbia's and on Arno's shore;
And, if a charm is left, 'tis faded soon,
And like a rose-bud plucked at noon.
With blunt and nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And clattered with the pails.
no avail, she asked had they ever heard of Christ?
Title: Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns
Author: Robert Burns
Release Date: January 25, 2005 [EBook #1279]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS AND SONGS OF ROBERT BURNS ***
Produced by David Widger and an Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
POEMS AND SONGS OF ROBERT BURNS
by Robert Burns
Note
1771 - 1779
Song--Handsome Nell
Song--O Tibbie, I Hae Seen The Day
Song--I Dream'd I Lay
Song--I Dream'd I Lay
Song--In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer
Tragic Fragment--All villain as I am
The Tarbolton Lasses
Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear
Song--Montgomerie's Peggy
The Ploughman's Life
1780
The Ronalds Of The Bennals
Song--Here's To Thy Health
Song--The Lass Of Cessnock Banks
Song--Bonie Peggy Alison
Song--Mary Morison
1781
Winter: A Dirge
A Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish
Paraphrase Of The First Psalm
The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified
Prayer, In The Prospect Of Death
Stanzas, On The Same Occasion
1782
Fickle Fortune: A Fragment
Song--Raging Fortune--Fragment Of
I'll Go And Be A Sodger
Song--"No Churchman Am I"
My Father Was A Farmer
John Barleycorn: A Ballad
1783
Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie
Poor Mailie's Elegy
Song--The Rigs O' Barley
Song Composed In August
Song--My Nanie, O!
When with hand he placed,
For throne, on vassal Europe based,
That column's lofty height--
Pillar, in whose dread majesty,
In double immortality,
Glory and bronze unite!
Where he had studied,--more than complaisance:
Well trained as any from that polished court;
To Fortune's favours anxious to resort;
Gallant and seeking ev'ry FAIR to please;
Each house, road, alley, soon he knew at ease;
The husbands, good or bad, their whims and years,
With ev'ry thing that moved their hopes or fears;
What sort of fuel best their females charmed;
What spies were kept by those who felt alarmed;
The if's, for's, to's, and ev'ry artful wile,
That might in love a confidant beguile,
Or nurse, or father-confessor, or dog;
When passion prompts, few obstacles can clog.
For contact information:
Dr.
Seek not to know which song or saying yields 37
As long as tinted haze the covered 38
Ye speak of raptures that are void and friendless 39
?
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public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.
I have a flower in my soul no one can take!
Of parents of grete note; 150
My fadre dydd a nobile armes
Emblazon onne hys cote:
"I make ne doubte butt hee ys gone
Where soone I hope to goe;
Where wee for ever shall bee blest, 155
From oute the reech of woe:
"Hee taughte mee justice and the laws
Wyth pitie to unite;
And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe
The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: 160
"Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande
To feede the hungrie poore,
Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie
The hungrie fromme my doore:
"And none can saye, butt alle mye lyfe 165
I have hys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie
Eche nyghte before I slept.
The rain did beat and bicker;
The church-tower over head,
You scarce could hear the Vicar!
Who rose before us, and as burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
We've sunk to rest within its arms entwined,
Like the Phoenician virgin, wake, and find
alone again.
The bard's enthusiastic strain,
Nor precepts sage nor pictures e'en,
Yet neither Virgil nor Racine
Nor Byron, Walter Scott, nor Seneca,
Nor the _Journal des Modes_, I vouch,
Ever a maid so much:
Its name, my friends, was Martin Zadeka,
The chief of the Chaldean wise,
Who dreams expound and prophecies.
And night brings rites abhorred!
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
Do you do the like, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.
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"Go,
Which here to use would truly be absurd.
don't call these things, kisses--
mouth-kisses, hand-kisses,
elbow, knee and toe,
and let it go at that--
and promise
what you'll never perform:
we've known you to slink away
until drought-time,
drooping-time,
withering-time:
we've caught you crawling off
into winter-time,
try to cover what you've done
with a long white scarf--
your own frozen tears
(likely phrase!
And bright mirrors can reflect beauty.
Note
Not meaningless flurries like
Those that frequent the street
Subject to black hats in flight;
But a dancer shown complete
A of muslin or
A furious scattering of spray
Raised by her knee, she for
Whom we live, to blow away
All, beyond her, mundane
Witty, drunken, motionless,
With her tutu, and refrain
From other mark of distress,
Unless a light-hearted draught of air
From her dress fans Whistler there.
A noise of harmony, pulses and throes
Of in the air--while many, who
Had died in mutual arms devout and true,
Sprang to each other madly; and the rest
Felt a high certainty of being blest.
The grave encloses, --
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.
That formed the brave fronts of these palaces?
which Hrēðel's son, King Hæcyn, fell, 2478 ff.
Her hero-freight a second Argo bear;
New wars too shall arise, and once again
Some great to some Troy be sent.
Pagans awhile their heads and faces on
Their breasts abase, their helmets doff.
How the great cities appear--how the Democratic masses, turbulent,
willful, as I love them,
How the whirl, the contest, the wrestle of evil with good, the
sounding and resounding, keep on and on,
How society waits unform'd, and is for a while between things ended
and things begun,
How America is the of glories, and of the triumph of
freedom and of the Democracies, and of the fruits of society, and
of all that is begun,
And how the States are complete in themselves--and how all triumphs
and glories are complete in themselves, to lead onward,
And how these of mine and of the States will in their turn be
convuls'd, and serve other parturitions and transitions,
And how all people, sights, combinations, the democratic masses too,
serve--and how every fact, and war itself, with all its horrors,
serves,
And how now or at any time each serves the exquisite transition of death.
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the web page at http://www.
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot,
Shall I unmoved behold the hallowed scene,
Which others rave of, though they know it not?
Sings there, and dances, in mad-hearted pranks;
There bees go courting every flower that's ripe,
On baulks and sunny banks;
And droning dragon-fly, on rude bassoon,
to give God thanks
In no discordant tune.
looks on me, and gently sighs,
While pure and lustrous tears begem her face;
My spirit, which her sorrow fiercely tries,
So to behold her weep with anger burns,
And freed from slumber to itself returns.
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watching while they are in peace,
For they know when their is nigh.
So high as to win
As in her chariot the goddess rode,
Crowned with high turrets, happy to have borne
Such quantity of gods, so her I mourn,
This ancient city, once whole worlds bestrode:
On whom, more than the Phrygian, was bestowed
A wealth of progeny, whose power at dawn
Was the world's power, her grandeur, now shorn,
Knowing no match to that which from her flowed.
On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, Behold with music's many charms
The silence groweth thou.
GERONTE _to one side of the stage, puts one arm on his
shoulders, places his hand under his chin, and makes him
turn towards him, whenever_ GERONTE _wants to see what
is going on between his daughter and the apothecary,
while he holds the discourse with him to keep
his attention_:) Monsieur, it is a great and subtle question
among doctors whether women are easier to cure
than men.
THE PEOPLE
ONE OF THE PEOPLE.
The hath lost its caress,
Alone I will dream to-day,
Weep in the silent recess.
Blank and unchanging like the grave.
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The seasons range the country roads,
But here in London streets I ken
No such helpmates, only men;
And these are not in plight to bear,
If they would, another's care.
That others followed equal in delight;
Each felt the same, for where's the perfect shade;
That can conceal when joys like these
Make plain to them the of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses
lie.
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My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson, But is fit only to rot in peace
Far from where worth 's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
Though the whole court should look on me with scorn;
My pathos certainly would stir thy laughter,
Hadst thou not long since quite forsworn.
I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
And in sin.
Be ev'ry word that might thine ear!
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