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Click below to download : Sunrise In The Country (Format : PDF)
Sunrise In The Country
What a sweet atmosphere of melodyAnd coolness falls upon the troubled heart,
Like oil upon the wave. Dance on--dance on--
Ye couriers of the sun--full-throated choir;
And sky-ward fling your sobbing psalmody--
A sunrise offering to the coming day.
On--on: still higher! Still rolls the torrent down,
Bearing the soul up in a cloud of sprays,
The world seems deluged with a golden shower:
Myriads of larks trill out their morning psalm,
As though the stars were changed to silver bells
Timbrelling forth their sweet melodious bursts
In joyous welcome of the maiden Morn.
(The end)
J. C. Manning's poem: Sunrise In The Country
NEXT BOOKS
RUNNING along a bank, a parapetThat saves from the precipitous wood belowThe level road, there is a path. It servesChildren for looking down the long smooth steep,Between the legs of beech and yew, to whereA fallen tree checks the sight: while men and womenContent themselves with the road and what they seeOver the bank, and what the children tell.The path, winding like silver, trickles on,Bordered and even invaded by thinnest mossThat tries to cover roots and crumbling chalkWith gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain.The children wear it. They have flattened the bankOn top, and silvered it between the mossWith the
The Path
RUNNING along a bank, a parapetThat saves from the precipitous wood belowThe level road, there is a path. It servesChildren for looking down the long smooth steep,Between the legs of beech and yew, to whereA fallen tree checks the sight: while men and womenContent themselves with the road and what they seeOver the bank, and what the children tell.The path, winding like silver, trickles on,Bordered and even invaded by thinnest mossThat tries to cover roots and crumbling chalkWith gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain.The children wear it. They have flattened the bankOn top, and silvered it between the mossWith the
PREVIOUS BOOKS
Mother. Clarence, my darling boy, The world to which thou yearn'st is grey with crime; And glittering Vice will bask before thy face, As serpents lie in sedgy, o'ergrown grass, In glossy beauty, whilst Life's potent glance Will thrall thy soul as with a spirit-spell: But hold thy heart, a chalice for the Good And Beautiful to crush, with pearly hands, The mellow draught which purifies the thought, And lights the soul. Thirst after knowledge, child. Thy face shall shine, then, brightly as a king's,
A Mother's Advice
Mother. Clarence, my darling boy, The world to which thou yearn'st is grey with crime; And glittering Vice will bask before thy face, As serpents lie in sedgy, o'ergrown grass, In glossy beauty, whilst Life's potent glance Will thrall thy soul as with a spirit-spell: But hold thy heart, a chalice for the Good And Beautiful to crush, with pearly hands, The mellow draught which purifies the thought, And lights the soul. Thirst after knowledge, child. Thy face shall shine, then, brightly as a king's,
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