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Return Post by :bnthroop Category :Poems Author :Fanny Kemble Date :November 2011 Read :2940

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When the bright sun back on his yearly road
Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me,
As from the sky he pours it all abroad,
A golden herald, my beloved, of thee.

When from the south the gentle winds do blow,
Calling the flowers that sleep beneath the earth,
It sounds like sweetest music, that doth go
Before thy coming, full of love and mirth.

When one by one the violets appear,
Opening their purple vests so modestly,
To greet the virgin daughter of the year,
Each seems a fragrant prophecy of thee.

For with the spring thou shalt return again;
Therefore the wind, the flower, and clear sunshine,
A double worship from my heart obtain,
A love and welcome not their own, but thine.

(The end)
Fanny Kemble's poem: Return

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Lines, Written In London Lines, Written In London

Lines, Written In London
Struggle not with thy life!--the heavy doom Resist not, it will bow thee like a slave:Strive not! thou shalt not conquer; to thy tomb Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though ne'er so brave.Complain not of thy life!--for what art thou More than thy fellows, that thou should'st not weep?Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow, And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep.Marvel not at thy life!--patience shall see The perfect work of wisdom to her given;Hold fast thy soul through this high mystery, And it shall lead

Absence Absence

What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face?How shall I charm the interval that lowers Between this time and that sweet time of grace?Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing?--shall I flee awayInto past days, and with some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day?Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's great gift of time;Shall I these mists of memory locked within, Leave, and