Poems with rhymes of dyed

Into the shadow of her pinions wide
Anarchs and priests, who feed on gold and blood
Till with the stain their inmost souls are dyed,

I'd seen the green banks of that fair river dyed
With British blood, red as the plumes of the rata
When Spring scatters scarlet drops thick in her pride.

Deep is the banner of crimson dyed,
But not with the red of its morning pride;

Tore from the brow of Persia's pride
The wreath in crimson victory dyed,

I thought to ask, nor looked to be denied,
Of God, that in my days there might ascend
His House; not from my hands, so redly dyed,

I held by Scindia -- my lance from butt to tuft was dyed,
The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the bridle-chain --
What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose and cried,

Came on huge courser, trapped with mickle pride;
With faithless Origille, in gorgeous gear,
With gold embroidered, and with azure dyed.

Sands of Suvla, scarlet-dyed,
Where the Cross is down in shame
And the Crescent flaunts its pride!

And we saw thee sad-eyed,
The tears on thy cheeks
While thy raiment was dyed

Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried:
This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed;

Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do no boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.

While those which the tide
Of ruby had dyed

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed

But vain these musings! Though my spirit’s bride,
Thou knewest not of my love! Though all my days
Must henceforth be inevitably dyed

Dead soul, thy Spring of life, my dying side:
There dye with me to live: to live in thee I dyed.

Her voice is music lost! The fountain-side
She gain'd?the wave flash'd forth?'twas darkly dyed

Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.

And the gifts which were destined to honour the bride,
By the contest of rivals in crimson were dyed.

Her wonted dress of winter's bride,
Her mantle woven of misty air,
With saffron sunlight faintly dyed.

Its cheek's pure marble dyed–
'Twas but the light's faint streaming flow
Thro' roses heap'd beside.