Poems, Том 1

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Стр. 335 - O Christ, come tenderly ! By thy forsaken Sonship, in the red Drear wine-press, — and the wilderness outspread, — And the lone garden where Thine agony Fell bloody from thy brow, — :by all of those Permitted desolations, comfort mine ! No earthly friend being near me, interpose No deathly angel 'twixt my face and Thine ; But stoop Thyself to gather my life's rose, And smile away my mortal to Divine.
Стр. 219 - And Goethe, with that reaching eye His soul reached out from, far and high, And fell from inner entity.
Стр. 329 - EXPEEIENCE, like a pale musician, holds A dulcimer of patience in his hand ; Whence harmonies we cannot understand, Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds In sad, perplexed minors. Deathly colds Fall on us while we hear and countermand Our sanguine heart back from the fancy-land, With nightingales in visionary wolds. We murmur, — " Where is any certain tune Or measured music, in such notes as these...
Стр. 75 - ... came out ; And by the blessed nightingale, which threw Its melancholy music after us ; — And by the flowers, whose spirits full of smells Did follow softly, plucking us behind Back to the gradual banks and vernal bowers And fourfold river-courses...
Стр. 326 - GRIEF. I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless ; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air, Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens.
Стр. 347 - TO GEORGE SAND. A RECOGNITION. TBUE genius, but true woman ! dost deny Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity ? Ah, vain denial ! that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn...
Стр. 245 - The maythorn and its scent outgive: I grieve not that I once did grieve. ' " In my large joy of sight and touch Beyond what others count for such, I am content to suffer much. ' " I know — is all the mourner saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth, And Life is perfected by Death.
Стр. 334 - I THINK that look of Christ might seem to say — " Thou, Peter ! art thou then a common stone Which I at last must break my heart upon, For all God's charge to His high angels may Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun ? And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray ? The cock crows coldly.
Стр. 343 - Of yon grey blank of sky, we might be faint To muse upon eternity's constraint Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop, For a few days consumed in loss and taint? O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted, — And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints ? — At least it may be said, " Because the way is short, I thank thee, God...
Стр. 355 - EACH creature holds an insular point in space ; Yet what man stirs a finger, breathes a sound, But all the multitudinous beings round In all the countless worlds, with time and place For their conditions, down to the central base, Thrill, haply, in vibration and rebound, Life answering life across the vast profound, In full antiphony...

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