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‘these monsters, set out in the open sun, | 0 |
before the saintly soul, whose human will | 1 |
and on her ample square from side to side | 2 |
and hold the hours as joshua stayed the sun,-- | 2 |
he scarce had ended, when those two approachd | 2 |
blindness like that would scare the mole and bat, | 0 |
did from the altar steal a smouldering brand, | 0 |
"he whose lot hath been | 2 |
our present, our past, our to be, | 2 |
now rise and look upon me." and she rose, | 2 |
came sages urging on his foamy steed: | 2 |
is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound. | 0 |
and finde thee knowing not of beasts alone, | 2 |
apple-blossoms pink, and low | 2 |
pride of thy sex, miss harriet martineau! | 1 |
we’ll say instead, the inconsequent creature, man,— | 2 |
until the bitter summons fell-- | 0 |
with level wings swinging | 2 |
lift not your hands in the banded war, | 2 |
would my heart and life flow onward, deathward, through this dream of | 3 |
but de lawd is all aroun' you, | 2 |
in slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps, | 0 |
to hold it fast. | 2 |
tain't the words alone, but feelin's, | 2 |
no angry bolt, but harmless flame. | 3 |
the beauty and the joy of their renewed might. | 1 |
oh, those days, so sweet, so happy, | 1 |
if men are always at a loss | 0 |
they were wet, and glistened with raindrops, shed | 2 |
and circling wonders fill the vast profound. | 1 |
the love that lived through all the stormy past, | 3 |
but it is not enough, ah! not enough | 2 |
the pyramids have risen. | 2 |
"play uppe, play uppe, o boston bells! | 1 |
is plain, thou say'st: but wherefore god this way | 2 |
to rise upon some other shore, | 2 |
at dusk of eve, | 2 |
and then, as is my wont, i told | 2 |
with warning cough and threatening wheeze | 0 |
who had my mother's servant been, | 2 |
daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, | 0 |
there's a certain slant of light, | 2 |
honour to the old bow-string! | 1 |
fall again. | 2 |
love, on myriad lips fairer than yours, kisses you could not give! . . . | 3 |
how heavy it seemed! as heavy as a stone; | 0 |
concerning him ye wot of, thus to think | 2 |
thou too art victor, rochambeau! | 1 |
when thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to all believers. | 3 |
and wit, like ocean, rose and fell?-- | 3 |
how they had waited for him, to complete | 2 |
heart as though with ashes blending; | 0 |
and give a meaning to their lives; and still | 2 |
along the track. afore the noonday meal | 2 |
but descend to the ocean again. | 2 |
and yet its whole career | 2 |
when waves forget to roll. | 2 |
i see two boats with nets, lying off the shore of paumanok, quite still; | 2 |
rais’d on the seas, the surges to control— | 2 |
passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower | 0 |
ay, knelt and worshipped on, as love in beauty's bower, | 1 |
the tale is one of distant skies; | 2 |
the herded wolves, bold only to pursue; | 2 |
would we were bidden with the rest! | 2 |
feel the pulses of the brave | 1 |
sparked a ruby through its heart, | 1 |
from the overhanging branches, | 2 |
i see them mix'd with george's sons, | 2 |
i watch you in your crystal sphere, | 2 |
daih 's de ho'n a blowin'! | 2 |
to teach in schools of little country towns | 2 |
listening, with half-suspended breath, | 2 |
beneath thy gracious feet! | 1 |
his hand the captive's fetters broke, | 0 |
did this wood come floating thick | 2 |
and confessors betwixt. | 2 |
his boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath, | 2 |
a hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves and snows, | 2 |
and yet perhaps you had been startled less | 2 |
and say, ‘fie, pale-face! are you english girls | 2 |
at length they turn to nothing else but down, | 2 |
and, waking, find it vision,--none the less | 2 |
here on the street as strangers do, | 2 |
it is but three times thou hast set thine eyes | 2 |
behind the heads of children) compliments, | 2 |
pulled by mules dat run like rabbits, each one tryin' to git ahead. | 2 |
unclasped the rusty belt beneath, | 2 |
you heard the news from vincent carrington. | 2 |
got the ill name of augurs, because they were bores, —) | 0 |
sire, son, and grandson; so the century glides; | 2 |
but she guesses he is near, | 2 |
and so, | 2 |
and tender thoughts, and prayers, remains, | 1 |
then thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent, | 0 |
"i mean estelle has always held the purse." | 2 |
though books on manners are not out of print, | 2 |
so, then, without a word that might offend | 2 |
seed-field of simpler manners, braver truth, | 1 |
the pain when it did live, | 0 |
busy, with sacerdotal tailorings | 2 |
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