Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) By William Barnes |
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XVI. |
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XVIII. |
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XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. | SONNET XXV. THE PAST. |
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XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | ||
118
SONNET XXV. THE PAST.
Ye hours of calms so sweet and storms so rude,
How fast ye from my memory recede!
In truth of you I take but little heed;
As now o'er future years I fondly brood:
But yet it seemeth good in solitude
To think upon the yet-remember'd deed
And word of those we knew of old, and feed
On bygone incidents in thoughtful mood.
How fast ye from my memory recede!
In truth of you I take but little heed;
As now o'er future years I fondly brood:
But yet it seemeth good in solitude
To think upon the yet-remember'd deed
And word of those we knew of old, and feed
On bygone incidents in thoughtful mood.
And yet I would not end with idle thought;
But where I find an error in the past,
That error in the future let me mend:
But where I find an error in the past,
That error in the future let me mend:
So that my pilgrimage may thus be brought
Unto a good conclusion at the last,
When earthly deeds and days to me shall end.
Unto a good conclusion at the last,
When earthly deeds and days to me shall end.
Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | ||