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A Hero and Some Other Folks by William A. Quayle

That had a sapling growing on it

"There rolls the deep where grew the tree: O earth, what changes thou hast seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go."

"If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice, 'Believe no more,' And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the godless deep."

"As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone, Running too vehemently to break upon it."

"Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers; And high above a piece of turret stair, Worn by the feet that now were silent, would Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibered arms, And suck'd the joining of the stones, and look'd A knot, beneath, of snakes; aloft, a grove."

"For as a leaf in mid-November is To what it was in mid-October, seem'd The dress that now she look'd on to the dress She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint."

"That had a sapling growing on it, slip From the long shore-cliff's windy walls to the beach, And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew: So lay the man transfixt."

"For one That listens near a torrent mountain-brook, All thro' the crash of the near cataract hears The drumming thunder of the huger fall At distance, were the soldiers wont to hear His voice in battle, and be kindled by it."

"And in the moment after, wild Limours, Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud Whose skirts are loosen'd by the breaking storm, Half ridden off with by the thing he rode, And all in passion, uttering a dry shriek, Dash'd on Geraint"

"Where, like a shoaling sea, the lovely blue Play'd into green, and thicker down the front With jewels than the sward with drops of dew, When all night long a cloud clings to the hill, And with the dawn ascending lets the day Strike where it clung: so thickly shone the gems."

"As the southwest that blowing Bala Lake Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days."

"In the midnight and flourish of his May."

"Only you would not pass beyond the cape That has the poplar on it."

"And at the inrunning of a little brook, Sat by the river in a cove and watch'd The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes And saw the barge that brought her moving down, Far off, a blot upon the stream, and said, Low in himself, 'Ah, simple heart and sweet, You loved me, damsel, surely with a love Far tenderer than my Queen's!'"

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