The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
CCVIII. |
CCIX. |
CCX. |
CCXI. |
CCXII. |
CCXIII. |
CCXIV. |
CCXV. |
CCXVI. |
CCXVII. |
CCXVIII. |
CCXIX. |
CCXX. |
CCXXI. |
CCXXII. |
CCXXIII. |
CCXXIV. |
CCXXV. |
CCXXVI. |
CCXXVII. |
CCXXVIII. |
CCXXIX. |
CCXXX. |
CCXXXI. |
CCXXXII. |
CCXXXIII. |
CCXXXIV. |
CCXXXV. |
CCXXXVI. |
CCXXXVII. |
CCXXXVIII. |
CCXXXIX. |
CCXL. |
CCXLI. |
CCXLII. |
CCXLIII. |
CCXLIV. |
CCXLV. |
CCXLVI. |
CCXLVII. |
CCXLVIII. |
CCXLIX. |
CCL. |
CCLI. |
CCLII. |
CCLIII. |
CCLIV. |
CCLV. |
CCLVI. |
CCLVII. |
CCLVIII. |
CCLIX. |
CCLX. |
CCLXI. |
CCLXII. |
CCLXIII. |
CCLXIV. |
CCLXV. |
CCLXVI. |
CCLXVII. |
CCLXVIII. |
CCLXIX. |
CCLXX. |
CCLXXI. |
CCLXXII. |
CCLXXIII. |
CCLXXIV. |
CCLXXV. |
CCLXXVI. |
CCLXXVII. |
CCLXXVIII. |
CCLXXIX. |
CCLXXX. | CCLXXX
AGNES
|
CCLXXXI. |
CCLXXXII. |
CCLXXXIII. |
CCLXXXIV. |
CCLXXXV. |
CCLXXXVI. |
CCLXXXVII. |
CCLXXXVIII. |
CCLXXXIX. |
CCXC. |
CCXCI. |
CCXCII. |
CCXCIII. |
CCXCIV. |
CCXCV. |
CCXCVI. |
CCXCVII. |
CCXCVIII. |
CCXCIX. |
CCC. |
CCCI. |
CCCII. |
CCCIII. |
CCCIV. |
CCCV. |
CCCVI. |
CCCVII. |
CCCVIII. |
CCCIX. |
CCCX. |
CCCXI. |
CCCXII. |
CCCXIII. |
CCCXIV. |
CCCXV. |
CCCXVI. |
CCCXVII. |
CCCXVIII. |
CCCXIX. |
CCCXX. |
CCCXXI. |
CCCXXII. |
CCCXXIII. |
CCCXXIV. |
CCCXXV. |
CCCXXVI. |
CCCXXVII. |
CCCXXVIII. |
CCCXXIX. |
CCCXXX. |
CCCXXXI. |
CCCXXXII. |
CCCXXXIII. |
CCCXXXIV. |
CCCXXXV. |
CCCXXXVI. |
CCCXXXVII. |
CCCXXXVIII. |
CCCXXXIX. |
The Golden Treasury | ||
CCLXXX
AGNES
I saw her in childhood—
A bright, gentle thing,
Like the dawn of the morn,
Or the dews of the spring:
The daisies and hare-bells
Her playmates all day;
Herself as light-hearted
And artless as they.
A bright, gentle thing,
Like the dawn of the morn,
Or the dews of the spring:
The daisies and hare-bells
Her playmates all day;
Herself as light-hearted
And artless as they.
266
I saw her again—
A fair girl of eighteen,
Fresh glittering with graces
Of mind and of mien.
Her speech was all music;
Like moonlight she shone;
The envy of many,
The glory of one.
A fair girl of eighteen,
Fresh glittering with graces
Of mind and of mien.
Her speech was all music;
Like moonlight she shone;
The envy of many,
The glory of one.
Years, years fleeted over—
I stood at her foot:
The bud had grown blossom,
The blossom was fruit.
A dignified mother,
Her infant she bore;
And look'd, I thought, fairer
Than ever before.
I stood at her foot:
The bud had grown blossom,
The blossom was fruit.
A dignified mother,
Her infant she bore;
And look'd, I thought, fairer
Than ever before.
I saw her once more—
'Twas the day that she died;
Heaven's light was around her,
And God at her side;
No wants to distress her,
No fears to appal—
O then, I felt, then
She was fairest of all!
'Twas the day that she died;
Heaven's light was around her,
And God at her side;
No wants to distress her,
No fears to appal—
O then, I felt, then
She was fairest of all!
H. F. Lyte
The Golden Treasury | ||