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admiration amid appear beautiful become believe better Byron called character Christianity clear coming common criticism dark death deep divine dream earth effect eloquent English entirely equal expression face fact feeling fire follow genius give hand head hear heart heaven higher hope human imagination interest language least less light living look lost mean Milton mind moral nature never night object once original pass passion perhaps picture poems poet poetical poetry popular present profound question rising seems sense shadow sincere sometimes song soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars story strong style sublime sure sweet sympathy tears thing thought tion true truth turn universe verse vision voice volume whole writings written young
Стр. 279 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Стр. 202 - Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho...
Стр. 24 - Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.
Стр. 24 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Стр. 204 - And one : * He had not wholly quench'd his power; A little grain of conscience made him sour.' At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, ' Is there any hope ? ' To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand ; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.
Стр. 198 - Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.
Стр. 36 - Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.
Стр. 338 - Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say " Peace !" Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
Стр. 332 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.