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Perhaps we should be dull were we not chidden; Paradise fruits are sweetest when forbidden. Folly can season Wisdom, Hatred Love.
Farewell, if it can be to say farewell
To those who—
I will not, as most dedicators do,
faultless you are
Assure myself and all the world and you,
And would to God I were, or even as near it
And rise again, and in our death and birth,
Which makes in mortal hearts its brief abode,
Love, only love
a wind which o'er the wires
Of the soul's giant harp
There is a mood which language faints beneath; You feel it striding, as Almighty Death
His bloodless steed.
And what is that most brief and bright delight Which rushes through the touch and through the
And stands before the spirit's inmost throne,
It fills the world with glory — and is gone.
It floats with rainbow pinions o'er the stream
Into the light of morning, to the
What is that joy which serene infancy
Remembrance borrows Fancy's glass, to show
These forms more
Than now they are, than then, perhaps, they were. When everything familiar seemed to be
Wonderful, and the immortality
Of this great world, which all things must inherit,
Were it not a sweet refuge, Emily,
For all those exiles from the dull insane
Who vex this pleasant world with pride and pain, For all that band of sister-spirits known
To one another by a voiceless tone?
LINES WRITTEN FOR ADONAIS
And ever as he went he swept a lyre
Of unaccustomed shape, and
Now like the
of impetuous fire,
Which shakes the forest with its murmurings,
Of the enamoured wind among the treen,
And dying on the streams of dew serene, Which feed the unmown meads with ever-during
And the green Paradise which western waves
And then came one of sweet and earnest looks, Whose soft smiles to his dark and night-like eyes Were as the clear and ever living brooks Are to the obscure fountains whence they rise, Showing how pure they are: a Paradise Of happy truth upon his forehead low Lay, making wisdom lovely, in the guise Of earth-awakening morn upon the brow Of star-deserted heaven, while ocean gleams below. Lines written for Adonais. Published by Garnett, 1862.
His song, though very sweet, was low and faint,
A simple strain
A mighty Phantasm, half concealed
In darkness of his own exceeding light, Which clothed his awful presence unrevealed, Charioted on the
Of thunder-smoke, whose skirts were chrysolite.
And like a sudden meteor, which outstrips
LINES WRITTEN FOR HELLAS
FAIREST of the Destinies,
Disarray thy dazzling eyes :
Keener far thy lightnings are
Than the wingèd [bolts] thou bearest,
And the smile thou wearest
Wraps thee as a star
Is wrapped in light.
Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn
Again into the quivers of the Sun
Be gathered could one thought from its wild
Return into the temple of the brain
Without a change, without a stain, —
Be what it once has ceased to be,
A star has fallen upon the earth
A quenchless atom of immortal light,
A cresset shaken from the constellations.
To the heart of Earth, the well
Guides the sphere which is its prison,
Like an angelic spirit pent
In a form of mortal birth,
Till, as a spirit half arisen
Shatters its charnel, it has rent,
The thin and painted garment of the Earth,
Consuming all its forms of living death.