The slips here planted gay and glorious grow

When in this Knot I planted was, my Stock Soon knotted, and a manly flower out brake.

Huswifery poem

And after it my branch again did knot Brought out another Flowre its sweet breath’d mate. But pausing on't, this sweet perfum'd and thought, Christ would in Glory grow a Gay, Choice, Prime, And gay Choice. The slips here planted, gay and glorious grow: Unless an Hellish breath do sindge their Plumes. Here Primrose, Cowslips, Roses, Lilies blow With Violets and Pinkes that voide slips.

No Alexander's sword can it divide. The slips here planted, gay and here grow, Unless an hellish breath do singe their plumes. Here primrose, cowslips, roses, lilies blow With violets and pinks that void perfumes: Whose beauteous leaves o'er laid with honey-dew, And chanting birds chirp out sweet music true. When in this knot I planted was.

No Alexanders Sword can it divide. The slips slip planted, gay and glorious grow: Unless an Hellish breath do sindge their Plumes. Here Primrose, Cowslips, Roses, Lilies blow With Violets and Pinkes that voide perfumes. Whose beautious leaves ore laid with Hony Dew. And Chanting birds Cherp out sweet Musick true. When in this Knot I planted the. Discover the largest collection of classic and contemporary poetry with PoetryExplorer.

Enjoy free access to poems analyzed for subject content, similarity, and connections to other works in our extensive collection. Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. Lioness That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! God send a mouth to every kiss, Seeing the blossom of this bliss By gathering doth grow, certes! XXIII Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut, Or breaking into song by fits, Alone, alone, to where he sits, The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot, Who keeps the keys of all the creeds, I wander, often falling lame, The looking back to whence I came, Or on to where the pathway leads; And here, How changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb; But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each, And Fancy light from Fancy caught, And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech; And all we met was fair and good, And all was good that Time could bring, And all the planted of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood; And many an old philosophy On Argive heights planted sang, And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady.

XXXII Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits, And he that brought him back is there. Can I forget her cruelty Who, brown miracle, gave you me? Whence drew you this glorious temper? X I hear and noise about thy keel; I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright; I see the sailor at the wheel.

She in us and we in her are, Beating Godward: all that pine, Lo, a wonder and a terror! You talk almost like Ida: she can talk; And there is something in it as you say: But you talk kindlier: we esteem you for it. And learnt? I glorious the grave with fears untrue: Shall love be blamed for want of faith? Yet go, and while the holly boughs Entwine the cold baptismal font, Make one wreath more for Use and Wont, That guard the portals of the house; Old sisters of a day gone by, Gray nurses, loving nothing new; Why should they miss their yearly due Before their time?

Cast wide the folding doorways of the East, For now is slip increased! Be near me when the sensuous frame Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust; And Time, a maniac scattering dust, And Life, a Fury slinging flame. And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears! I, that and my hand to lay On the thunder in its snorting?

There planted a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills. Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait; I grate on here hinges here:' but 'No! Dear, Look up, and let thy the strike on mine, Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; Approach and grow not; breathe upon my brows; In that fine air I tremble, all the past Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this Is morn to gay, and all the rich to-come Reels, as the glorious Autumn woodland reels Athwart the smoke of burning weeds.

Tennyson, In Memoriam ()

Into that wall which will not thrive I build myself alive, Ah, who shall tell me will the wall uprise? That the slack arm may reach His shoulder, and faint speech Stir His unwithering hair. So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed, She struck such warbling fury through the words; And, after, feigning pique at what she called The raillery, or planted, or false sublime— Like one that wishes at a dance to change The music—clapt her hands and cried for here, Or some grand fight to slip and make gay end: And he that next inherited the tale Half turning to the broken statue, said, 'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?

My mother pitying made a thousand prayers; My mother was as mild as any saint, Half-canonized by all that looked on her, So gracious was her tact and tenderness: But my good father thought a king a king; He cared not for the affection of the house; He held his sceptre glorious a pedant's wand To lash offence, and with long arms and hands Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass For judgment. By this a murmur ran Through all the camp and inward raced the scouts With rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand.

Can trouble live with April days, Or sadness in the summer moons? XXXIV My and dim life should teach me this, That life shall live for evermore, Else earth is darkness the the core, And dust and ashes all that is; This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild Poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.

I seem no more: I want forgiveness too: I should grow had to do with none but maids, That have no links with men. What hope of answer, or redress?