Felicia Hemans Quotes
1793–1835 England
Felicia Dorothea Hemans (September 25, 1793 – May 16, 1835) was an English poet.
- England
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- Playwrights
- Poets
Also known as: Felicia Dorothea Hemans, Hemans, Felicia, Hemans, Felicia Dorothea
Random Felicia Hemans quote
32 quotes
Come to the sunset tree!
The day is past and gone;
The woodman’s axe lies free,
And the reaper’s work is done.
Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
A holy thing is sleep,
On the worn spirit shed,
And eyes that wake to weep.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
In the busy haunts of men.
Where shall we make her grave?
Oh! where the wild flowers wave
In the free air!
When shower and singing-bird
'Midst the young leaves are heard,
There—lay her there!
They float before my soul, the fair designs
Which I would body forth to Life and Power,
Like clouds, that with their wavering hues and lines
Pourtray majestic buildings:—
I had a hat. It was not all a hat,—
Part of the brim was gone:
Yet still I wore it on.
The merry Homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman’s voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood’s tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The Homes of England (1827)
Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame!
A draught that mantles high,
And seems to lift this earthly frame
Above mortality.
Away! to me—a woman—bring
Sweet water from affection's spring.
Why, who shall talk of shrines, of sceptres riven?
It is too sad to think on what we are,
When from its height afar
A world sinks thus; and yon majestic Heaven
Shines not the less for that one vanish'd star!
There shall be no more snow
No weary noontide heat,
So we lift our trusting eyes
From the hills our Fathers trod:
To the quiet of the skies:
To the Sabbath of our God.
The wind, the wandering wind
Of the golden summer eves—
Whence is the thrilling magic
Of its tunes amongst the leaves?
Oh, is it from the waters,
Or from the long, tall grass?
Or is it from the hollow rocks
Through which its breathings pass?