It is the hour when Arno turns Her gold to chrysoprase; When each low-hanging star outburns Its faint, mysterious rays, As from the prison of faery urns Which faery hands upraise. It is the hour when life’s constraint A moment’s ease is given; When Earth is like a holy saint, Stilled, sanctified, and shriven, And the deep-breathing heart grows faint To be so near to Heaven.
It is the hour when Arno turns Her gold to chrysoprase; When each low-hanging star outburns Its faint, mysterious rays, As from the prison of faery urns Which faery hands upraise. It is the hour when life’s constraint A moment’s ease is given; When Earth is like a holy saint, Stilled,...
A Dead soul lay in the light of day, Desperate, wan, it had passed; Oft foiled, it had toiled on its upward way, Till it perished, spent, aghast, After a thousand defeats the prey Of its conquering sin at last. Said a stranger:—“Lo, how in shame and woe Is Satan’s seal ever set!” Laughed...
The Great Republic goes to war, But spring still comes as spring has done, And all the summer months will run Their summer sequence as before; And every bird will build its nest, The sun sink daily in the west, And rising eastward bring new day In the old way. But ah, those dawns...
Who comes to England not to learn The love for her his fathers bore, Breathing her air, can still return No kindlier than he was before. In vain, for him, from shore to shore Those fathers strewed an alien strand With the loved names that evermore Are native to our ear and land. Who sees...
