The Quest Lo, I met Him in the street. There He stayed my tired feet. Lo, He stopped me in the street, Touched my bruised, my tired feet, Bade me linger in the shade. Rest awhile, be...
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719 POEMS Lark- Wise When I behold how men go down to death Like moon-thralled Keats, with half their work undone; I fear the fleet-foot hour, the hasting sun That wastes the rose he opens...
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523 POEMS Seventh Station 'Tis not the stones that conquer now, nor the knotted flails; It is the soul that falters here, it is the soul that fails. O midway of our mortal life when the strong...
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