From Queens' Gardens: Selected Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide A. Procter, Christina Rossetti, and Others

J. Knight Company, 1888 - 216 ˹

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˹ 183 - DOES the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?...
˹ 69 - I sat and spun within the doore, ' My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. ' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song.
˹ 72 - Then beaten foam flew round about Then all the mighty floods were out. So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at...
˹ 108 - One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) Joys are sent thee here below : Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band : One will fade as others greet thee ; Shadows passing through the land. Do not look at life's long sorrow ; See how small each moment's pain ; God will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begin again. Every hour that fleets so slowly Has its task to do or bear ; Luminous the crown, and holy, If thou set each...
˹ 209 - I HOPED, that with the brave and strong, My portioned task might lie ; To toil amid the busy throng, With purpose pure and high. But God has fixed another part, And He has fixed it well ; I said so with my bleeding heart, When first the anguish fell.
˹ 11 - WHAT are we set on earth for ? Say, to toil ; Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. God did anoint thee with His odorous oil, To wrestle, not to reign ; and He assigns All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, For younger fellow- workers of the soil To wear for amulets.
˹ 14 - TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens.
˹ 68 - Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. " Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe
˹ 107 - One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach.
˹ 12 - Au. are not taken ! there are left behind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring. And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind. But if it were not so if I could find No love in all the world for comforting. Nor any path but hollowly did ring, Where