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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,
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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.
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oh, those days, so sweet, so happy,
| 1 |
if men are always at a loss
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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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