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COMBINATIONS OF VERSES. 93 |
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It so torments my mind
That my heart faileth ; She wavers with the wind
As a ship saileth. Please her as best I may, She loves still to gainsay: Alack ! and well-a-day 1;
Philinda flouts me I
Anon.
Hcie was I with my arm and heart
And brain, all yours for a word, a want, Put into a look—just a look, your part —
While mine to repay it . . . valiant vaunt. Were the woman that's dead alive to hear, Had her lover, that's lost, love's proof to show! But I cannot show it; you cannot speak
From the churchyard neither, miles removed, Though I feel by a pulse within my cheek,
Which stabs and stops, that the woman I loved Needs help in her grave, and finds none near,
Wants warmth from the heart which sends it—so !
R. Browning. "Too Late."
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: Uplifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, " My life is dreary;
He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"
Tennyson. " Mariana." |
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