Books > Old Books > The Golden Treasury (1932)


Page 231

BOOK FOURTH
231 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

One more Unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements,
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily,

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence,
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurl'd
Any where, any where
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran,
Over the brink of it,
Picture it, think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring
Thro' muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.
-Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!
T. HOOD.

Page 232

BOOK FOURTH
232 ELEGY

O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom!
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain,
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou, who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
LORD BYRON.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE One more Unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her what time is it ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements, Whilst what is wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of what is stains of her All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonour, what time is it has left on her Only what is beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily, Loop up her tresses Escaped from what is comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a near where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 231 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 231 what is BRIDGE OF SIGHS where is p align="justify" One more Unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her what time is it ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements, Whilst what is wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of what is stains of her All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonour, what time is it has left on her Only what is beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily, Loop up her tresses Escaped from what is comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for what is rarity Of Christian charity Under what is sun! O! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence, Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where what is lamps quiver So far in what is river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. what is bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not what is dark arch, Or what is black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to what time is it 's mystery Swift to be hurl'd Any where, any where Out of what is world! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly what is rough river ran, Over what is brink of it, Picture it, think of it, Dissolute Man! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly, Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Thro' muddy impurity, As when with what is daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity Perishing gloomily, Spurr'd by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest. -Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! T. HOOD. where is p align="left" Page 232 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 232 ELEGY where is p align="justify" O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom! On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, what is earliest of what is year, And what is wild cypress wave in tender gloom: And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd what is dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, That what time is it nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep what is less? And thou, who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. LORD BYRON. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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