. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . from the Gascon land Found refuge here and rest,And loved of all the village band. Its fairest and its best. He knelt with her on Sabbath moms,He woishiped through her eyes, And on the pride that doubts and scornsStole in her faiths surprise. Her simple daily life he saw By homeliest duties tried,In all things by an untaught law Of fitness justified. For her his rank aside he laid; He took the hue and toneOf lowly life and toil, and made Her simple ways his own. Yet still, in gay and
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . from the Gascon land Found refuge here and rest,And loved of all the village band. Its fairest and its best. He knelt with her on Sabbath moms,He woishiped through her eyes, And on the pride that doubts and scornsStole in her faiths surprise. Her simple daily life he saw By homeliest duties tried,In all things by an untaught law Of fitness justified. For her his rank aside he laid; He took the hue and toneOf lowly life and toil, and made Her simple ways his own. Yet still, in gay and careless ease, To harvest-field or danceHe brought the gentle courtesies. The nameless grace of France. And she who taught him love, not l^M From him she loved in turn,Caught, in her sweet unconsciousness. What love is quick to learn. Each grew to each in plea8e<l accord, Nor knew the gazing townIf she looked upward to her lord, Or he to her looked down. How sweet when summers <]ay was oei^ Ilia violins mirth and walk on pleasant Newburys short, The rivers moonlit nail I SELF-RELIANCE. 60?. Ah! Life is brief, though love be long; The altar and the bier,The burial hymn and bridal song, Were both in one short year. Her rest is quiet on the hill,Beneath the locusts bloom : Far off her lover sleeps as stillWithin -his scutcheoned tomb. The Gascon lord, the village maid,In death still clasp their hands ; The love that levels rank and gradeUnites their several lands. What matter whose the hillside grave,Or whose the blazoned stone ? Forever to her western waveShall whisper blue Garonne! 0 love !—?o hallowing every soilThat gives thy sweet flowers room, Wherever, nursed by ease or toil,The human heart takes bloom! Plant of lost Eden, from the sod Of sinful earth unriven,White blossom of the trees of God Dropped down to us from heaven ! This tangled waste of mound and stone Is holy for thy sake ;A sweetness which is all thy own. Breathes out of fern and brake. And whi
Size: 1616px × 1546px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
