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Poems

By Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. Third Edition
  

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. A CHARACTER.
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 


97

XXXVIII. A CHARACTER.

(TO ------)

A sound of voices that have long been still—
The sunshine of their smile who smile no more—
The murmurous music of a mountain rill,
Speaking to memory's ear the cherished lore
Of days that were and are not, and a home
Lost in the cloudland of ideal dreams
Whose retrospect is childhood, but their gleams
Light up dim glories in the ethereal dome
Arched o'er the vast hereafter;—such the spell
Wrought on me, as I gaze upon thy face,
And deeper far, beyond what words may tell,
Revealing in thy soul the blended grace
Of trustful calm with purpose pure and high,
Of manly strength with tenderest sympathy.