Glee ! the great storm is over !
Four have recovered the land ;
Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.
Ring, for the scant salvation !
Toll, for the bonnie souls, —
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
...
"Glide soft", ye Silver Floods"
Glide soft, ye silver floods,
And every spring:
Within the shady woods
Let no bird sing!
Nor from the grove a turtle-dove
Be seen to couple with her love;
But silence on each dale and mountain dwell...
Gloomy Winter's noo awa'; soft the westlin breezes blaw.
Among the birks o' Stanley shaw the mavis sings fu' cheerie O.
Sweet the crawflowers early bell decks Glenifer's dewy dell.
Blooming like your bonny sel', my ain my airtless dearie O.
Come my lassie let us stray, o'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae,
And...
Glory is that bright tragic thing
That for an instant
Means Dominion —
Warms some poor name
That never felt the Sun,
Gently replacing
In oblivion —
Glowing is her Bonnet,
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,
Yet she cannot speak.
Better as the Daisy
From the Summer hill
Vanish unrecorded
Save by tearful rill —
Save by loving sunrise
Looking for her face.
Save by feet unnumbered...
Go not too near a House of Rose —
The depredation of a Breeze —
Or inundation of a Dew
Alarms its walls away —
Nor try to tie the Butterfly,
Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,
In insecurity to lie
Is Joy's insuring quality.
Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself
Upon his rare approach —
Go rapid, lest Competing Death
Prevail upon the Coach —
Go timid, should his final eye
Determine thee amiss —
Go boldly — for thou paid'st his price
Redemption — for a Kiss —
"Go tell it" — What a Message —
To whom — is specified —
Not murmur — not endearment —
But simply — we — obeyed —
Obeyed — a Lure — a Longing?
Oh Nature — none of this —
To Law — said sweet Thermopylae
I give my dying Kiss —
Go thy great way!
The Stars thou meetst
Are even as Thyself —
For what are Stars but Asterisks
To point a human Life?
Go to thy rest, fair child!
Go to thy dreamless bed,
While yet so gentle, undefiled,
With blessings on thy head.
Fresh roses in thy hand,
Buds on thy pillow laid,
Haste from this dark and fearful land,
Where flowers so quickly fade.
Ere sin...