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The Secret

Nightingales warble about it,
   All night under blossom and star;
The wild swan is dying without it,
   And the eagle crieth afar;

At Gibraltar


England, I stand on thy imperial ground,
Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,


Where are the friends that I knew in my Maying,
   In the days of my youth, in the first of my roaming?
We were dear; we were leal; O, far we went straying;
   Now never a heart to my heart comes homing! --

America To England

MOTHER of nations, of them eldest we,
Well is it found, and happy for the state,
When that which makes men proud first makest them great,

Divine Awe

TO tremble, when I touch her hands,
With awe that no man understands;
To feel soft reverence arise
When, lover-sweet, I meet her eyes;

Edith Cavell

The world hath its own dead; great motions start
In human breasts, and make for them a place
In that hushed sanctuary of the race

From My Country

O DESTINED Land, unto thy citadel,
What founding fates even now doth peace compel,
That through the world thy name is sweet to tell!

Homeward Bound

INTO the west of the waters on the living ocean’s foam,
Into the west of the sunset where the young adventurers roam,

Immortal Love

Immortal love, too high for my possessing,—
Yet, lower than thee, where shall I find repose?
Long in my youth I sang the morning rose,

Love’s Rosary

SWEET names, the rosary of my evening prayer,
Told on my lips like kisses of good-night
To friends who go a little from my sight,

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8/4/2021 6:31:56 PM #