The Death of Œnone: Akbar's Dream, and Other Poems

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Macmillan, 1892 - Death in literature - 111 pages
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Page 84 - Red of the Dawn ! Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The Ghost of the Brute that is walking and haunting us yet, and be free? In a hundred, a thousand winters? Ah, what will our children be, The men of a hundred thousand, a million summers away?
Page 25 - If it be a mosque, people murmur the holy prayer ; and if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from love to thee. Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and sometimes the mosque. But it is thou whom I seek from temple to temple.
Page 26 - Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or orthodoxy ; for neither of them stands behind the screen of thy truth. Heresy to the heretic, and religion to, the orthodox. But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of the perfume seller.
Page 11 - Love, Then, after his brief range of blameless days, The toll of funeral in an Angel ear Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell. The face of Death is toward the Saa of Life, His shadow darkens earth: his truer name Is
Page 93 - THERE is a sound of thunder afar, Storm in the South that darkens the day ! Storm of battle and thunder of war ! Well if it do not roll our way. Storm, Storm, Riflemen form! Ready, be ready against the storm ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form!
Page 9 - WILL my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in your deeps and heights? Must my day be dark by reason, O ye Heavens, of your boundless nights, Rush of Suns, and roll of systems, and your fiery clash of meteorites?
Page 17 - ST. TELEMACHUS.* HAD the fierce ashes of some fiery peak Been hurl'd so high they ranged about the globe? For day by day, thro' many a blood-red eve, In that four-hundredth summer after Christ, The wrathful sunset glared against a cross Rear'd on the tumbled ruins of an old...
Page 32 - Shall bear false witness, each of each, no more, But find their limits by that larger light, And overstep them, moving easily Thro...
Page 104 - God ! Steel me with patience! soften me with grief! Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray, Till this embattled wall of unbelief My prison, not my fortress, fall away! Then, if Thou wiliest, let my day be brief, So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro
Page 94 - Let your Reforms for a moment go, Look to your butts and take good aims, Better a rotten borough or so, Than a rotten fleet or a city in flames!

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