At Nightfall and Midnight: Musings After Dark

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Hodder and Stoughton, 1873 - Death in literature - 466 pages
 

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Page 81 - Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day ? If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him.
Page 376 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress...
Page 336 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first sight, if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
Page 354 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Page 66 - My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped : When down behind the cottage roof, At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!
Page 299 - And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are...
Page 317 - All along the valley, stream that flashest white, Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, All along the valley, where thy waters flow, I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago. All along the valley while I walk'd today, The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away; For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed Thy living voice to me...
Page 222 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Page 6 - Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower, To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower Looked ere his eyes were closed.
Page 275 - Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes...

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