1 files changed, 427 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/14320-0.txt b/14320-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..21f0027
--- /dev/null
+++ b/14320-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,427 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14320 ***
+
+ [Illustration: LANDSCAPE AND SONG.]
+
+
+[Handwritten note:
+
+To Annette
+  from
+    Uncle Tom.
+
+Xmas 1887-
+  Toronto, Canada.]
+
+
+ [Illustration: LANDSCAPE AND SONG.]
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+  *Landscape
+     and
+       Song.*
+
+  Selected
+    and
+  Arranged
+    by
+  E. Nesbit.
+
+ [Illustration.]
+
+        LONDON:
+  HENRY J. DRANE & CO.
+  Paternoster Row E.C.
+
+New York: E.P. Dutton & Co.
+
+ [Illustration.]
+
+
+
+                 I.
+
+
+What dreams the flower cups enfold
+  Within their fragrant leaves,
+Of meadow-ways grown fair with spring,
+  Soft mists that April weaves;
+    And cottage gardens where the scent
+    Of flowers is with the wood-smoke blent.
+
+The ceaseless ripple of the brook,
+  Babbling against the broken arch,
+The little firwood's tasselled spires,
+  The cloud of verdure on the larch;
+    The gold-green glimmer of the woods,
+    Where tender twilight always broods.
+
+                 _C. Brooke._
+
+
+
+                 II.
+
+
+There is dew for the flow'ret,
+  And honey for the bee,
+And bowers for the wild bird,
+  And love for you and me.
+
+There are tears for the many,
+  And pleasures for the few,
+But let the world pass on, dear,
+  There's love for me and you.
+
+                 _Hood._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 III.
+
+
+         THE ROSE IN OCTOBER.
+
+O late and sweet, too sweet, too late!
+  What nightingale will sing to thee?
+  The empty nest, the shivering tree,
+The dead leaves by the garden gate,
+And cawing crows for thee will wait,
+            O sweet and late!
+
+Where wert thou when the soft June nights
+  Were faint with perfume, glad with song?
+  Where wert thou when the days were long
+And steeped in Summer's young delights?
+What hopest thou now but checks and slights,
+            Brief days, lone nights?
+
+Stay, there's a gleam of Winter wheat
+  Far on the hill; down in the woods
+  A very heaven of stillness broods;
+And through the mellow sun's worn heat,
+Lo! tender pulses round thee beat,
+            O late and sweet!
+
+
+
+                 IV.
+
+
+There's beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes
+Can trace it midst familiar things and through their lowly guise;
+We may find it when a hedgerow showers its blossoms o'er our way,
+Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day.
+
+                 _F. Hemans._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 V.
+
+
+Half covered with last year's leaves,
+  She peeped from her russet bed;
+
+The great bare branches of the trees
+  Were tossed and swayed overhead;
+
+The hedge looked barren and prickly,
+  Without the sign of a leaf;
+Over the flower there bowed a heart
+  Grown cold with the snows of grief.
+
+The violet's fragile petals
+  Enfolded a heart of gold,
+And a deeper wealth of perfume,
+  Than the tiny cup could hold;
+So the great wind roaring above
+  Sent a tiny zephyr down,
+To drift aside the sheltering bloom,
+  And bereave her of her crown.
+
+It stole the familiar scent,
+  To give to the burdened heart
+With only a cold north wind
+  In the world to take its part;
+The flower died in the bleak March air,
+  And the heart went on its way;
+The violet's life was blooming there,
+  And melting the snows away.
+
+                 _Caris Brooke._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+               VI.
+
+
+Yet nature holds a gracious hand,
+  Her ancient ways pursuing;
+And spreads the charms we loved of old,
+  To aid the heart's renewing.
+
+Here her long crests of fringèd crag
+  Allure the skyward swallows;
+Here the still dove's low love-note floats
+  Above her leafy hollows.
+
+Here its calm strength her hillside rears,
+  From heaving slopes of clover;
+Here still the pewit pipes and flits
+  Within his furzy cover.
+
+Here hums the wild-bee in the thyme,
+  Here glows the royal heather;
+And youth comes back upon the breeze,
+  And youth's unclouded weather.
+
+                 _F.T. Palgrave._
+
+ [Illustration: Here hums the wild bee in the thyme]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 VII.
+
+
+              AN APPEAL.
+
+Dear, do not die!
+Of cypresses and grassy graves sing I--
+I hang with wreaths of song death's grief-grown cross,
+And weep, to music, for Life's infinite loss,
+And make the sweetest verse of bitterest woe,
+--I know the way because I love you so;
+But I have written griefs that I have known
+In other's heart's blood, never in my own.
+If _you_ died what more could be sung or said?
+I could not sing of Death if you were dead.
+
+Dear, do not love!
+Do not love _me_, keep still aloof, above!
+While you and Love in far-off glory stand
+Clear sounds the voice, and harp responds to hand.
+But if you loved me--if you came quite near
+And set Love 'mid life's common things and dear--
+Mute would the voice be, Love would be too fair
+To waste upon the wide world's empty air,
+And, songless, I should droop and vainly pine--
+I could not sing of Love if you were mine!
+
+                 _E. Nesbit._
+
+ [Illustration.]
+
+
+
+                 VIII.
+
+
+I know the way she went
+  Home with her maiden posy,
+For her feet have touch'd the meadows
+  And left the daisies rosy.
+
+                 _Tennyson._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 IX.
+
+
+A golden radiance shines,
+  And day declines;
+Red in the dying sun,
+  Day's course is run;
+And weary labourers have homeward gone,
+  Their day's work done.
+
+The cornfield now is still,
+  To-morrow will
+Bring back the men who reap:
+  But now asleep
+The woods and fields and meadows seem to lie--
+  Restful as I.
+
+                 _E. Nesbit._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 X.
+
+
+As a twig trembles which a bird
+  Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
+So is my memory thrilled and stirred;
+  I only know she came and went.
+
+As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
+  The blue dome's measureless content,
+So my soul held that moment's heaven;--
+  I only know she came and went.
+
+As at one bound, our swift Spring heaps
+  The orchard full of bloom and scent,
+So clove her May my wintry sleeps;--
+  I only know she came and went.
+
+An angel stood and met my gaze
+  Through the low doorway of my tent;
+The tent is struck, the vision stays;--
+  I only know she came and went.
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
+  And life's last oil is nearly spent,
+One gush of light these eyes will brim,
+  Only to think she came and went.
+
+                 _J.R. Lowell._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 XI.
+
+
+             EVENING SONG.
+
+Waking, I dream of thy life that shall be
+  Never by sorrow made weary;
+Earth shall be soft with love for thee,
+  Down-lined the nest of my dearie.
+Millions of flowers to gladden thy way,
+Springing from seeds that my heart sets to-day.
+            Sleep, darling baby, baby!
+
+Sleeping, dream thou of the Spirit of Spring--
+  Of sweets and of scents she is bringing;
+Just for the flowers' sake thrushes will sing,
+  Flowers blow for love of the singing.
+In the world's harmony take thou thy part,
+So shall the springtide bloom in thy heart!
+            Sleep, darling baby, baby!
+
+                 _E. Nesbit._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 XII.
+
+
+Now comes the first chill whisper of the end,
+  While yet the woods are green and skies are blue;
+While under loads of corn great waggons bend,
+  And sunshine makes us glad the whole day through.
+The trees are full of leaf and of delight,
+  Yet through them sighs the forecast of the time
+When the lean branches shall be wondrous, white
+  With winter's lovely radiant frost and rime.
+
+The fallen leaves as yet are hardly missed,
+  The rest will fade--until the woods are bare,
+And the dim glades where summer lovers kissed,
+  Forget how leafy and divine they were.
+And in our souls come whispers of despair,
+  "Failure again--failure for evermore!
+Leaves only for one summer's space are fair,
+  No flower can live to see the fruit it bore."
+
+Yet every spring millions of flowers have birth,
+  And every autumn brings its fruits and sheaves;
+But when the fruit and grain make glad the earth,
+  Dead are the flowers, and falling are the leaves.
+Though all our lives we see our dear dreams die,--
+  Each noble dream brings fruit. It may not be
+The fruit we hoped it would be followed by,
+  But the fruit lasts to all eternity.
+
+No seed is lost--in earth's brown bosom cast;
+  No deed is lost--of all the deeds we do;
+Each grows to fruit--is harvested at last,
+  Haply in shape undreamed of, fair, and new.
+And, though we die before the end be won,
+  Our deeds live on; and other men will cry,
+Seeing the end of what we have begun,
+  "Still lives the fruit for which the flowers had to die!"
+
+                 _E. Nesbit._
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                 XIII.
+
+
+Birds, joyous birds, of the wandering wing!
+Whence is it ye come with the flowers of Spring?
+"We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
+From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
+And each worn wing hath regained its home
+Under peasants' roof-trees or monarch's dome."
+
+And what have ye found in the monarch's dome,
+Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam?
+"We have found a change, we have found a pall,
+And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall,
+And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,--
+Naught looks the same, save the nest we built."
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+O joyous birds! it hath still been so;
+Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go!
+But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep,
+And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep:
+Say, what have ye found in the peasant's cot,
+Since last ye parted from that sweet spot?--
+
+"A change we have found there--and many a change!
+Faces and footsteps, and all things strange!
+Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
+And the young that were, have a brow of care.
+And the place is hushed where the children played--
+Naught looks the same, save the nest we made."
+
+                 _F. Hemans._
+
+ [Illustration: THE END.]
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Landscape and Song, by Various
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14320 ***