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Page 11 - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Page 275 - I triumph'd, ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye ; Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint, Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point : Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire. Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the...
Page 263 - Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.
Page 263 - Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; Death closes all : but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
Page 66 - The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: 'I am half sick of shadows,
Page 171 - It is the land that freemen till, That sober-suited Freedom chose. The land, where girt with friends or foes A man may speak the thing he will ; A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent...
Page 192 - For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, In whom should meet the offices of all, Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence: But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands.
Page 114 - With shadow-streaks of rain. And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind.