Sleep! The ghostly Winds are blowing; We are gang afar, moon steed and I are going! To the Land where the sunless Angels are! x "The world is cruel; the world's untrue; Our foes are Nowrk, но many; our friends are few; Gread, however we sue, What is there left for us to do, But fly, -ty From the cruel sky, And hide in the deepest deefs, and die!! BW. Procter. AT THE CHURCH GATE. No work, no bread, however we sue! From the cruel sky, And hide in the deepest deeps—and die! BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. (Barry Cornwall.) AT THE CHURCH GATE. ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, The minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming. They've hushed the minster bell; The organ 'gins to swell: She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; May Heaven go with her! SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. Kneel undisturbed, fair saint! I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. SHE was a phantom of delight A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament: Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, A dancing shape, an image gay, THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. I saw her, upon nearer view, A countenance in which did meet And now I see with eye serene With something of an angel light. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. I HAVE seen a nightingale |