PoemsCarey and Hart, 1844 - Всего страниц: 116 |
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Стр. 14
... heart Made music as I slept . I cannot paint that glorious dream , Words are such cold and lifeless things ; Of all the life and light it brings , I can but give a gleam . I wandered with a calm surprise Half on the earth , and half in ...
... heart Made music as I slept . I cannot paint that glorious dream , Words are such cold and lifeless things ; Of all the life and light it brings , I can but give a gleam . I wandered with a calm surprise Half on the earth , and half in ...
Стр. 15
... heart , And from the tones so intermingled , Swift - gathering Fancy ever singled One voice from every part . And first I heard the mighty ocean Go thundering to his empire bounds ; A voice of many blended sounds In sad and wild ...
... heart , And from the tones so intermingled , Swift - gathering Fancy ever singled One voice from every part . And first I heard the mighty ocean Go thundering to his empire bounds ; A voice of many blended sounds In sad and wild ...
Стр. 18
... when I knew no change . And then came tinkling on my ear , As if to strengthen all this spell , The grazing herd's low meadow - bell : O , it was sweet to hear ! And I was young - my heart was light ; 18 THE MUSIC OF NATURE .
... when I knew no change . And then came tinkling on my ear , As if to strengthen all this spell , The grazing herd's low meadow - bell : O , it was sweet to hear ! And I was young - my heart was light ; 18 THE MUSIC OF NATURE .
Стр. 19
Christopher Pearse Cranch. And I was young - my heart was light ; The stream of years was backward rolled ; How could I feel that I'd grown old , When Memory was so bright ? I wandered , drinking in the sound : There is no music like to ...
Christopher Pearse Cranch. And I was young - my heart was light ; The stream of years was backward rolled ; How could I feel that I'd grown old , When Memory was so bright ? I wandered , drinking in the sound : There is no music like to ...
Стр. 22
... heart ; It hath no peer in the pride of art , It blooms in the breast of the wise and pure , But withers a sinful heart within , For its amaranth beauty cannot endure The blighting atmosphere of sin . O holy and beautiful Spirit ...
... heart ; It hath no peer in the pride of art , It blooms in the breast of the wise and pure , But withers a sinful heart within , For its amaranth beauty cannot endure The blighting atmosphere of sin . O holy and beautiful Spirit ...
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amid Art thou AURORA BOREALIS bard Beauty bird birth blessed blooms blossom breathe breeze bright calm cherubim clouds comes dark Darting dear deep Dost thou doth dull earth Endymion eyes feel flower gleam glorious goeth golden green half Half loving harmony hast hear heard heart heaven hidden hung inner light listening lonely look lyre memory meteors mind moan morning murmur mystery Nature's never night o'er ocean Outworld perdie Pleiades roam roll round sage scorn shine silent sing skies sleep slept smile soft SONNETS soul hath sound speech spirit sprite stars stood strange stream strife summer sweeping sweet tell tempests thee When thou thine things thou art thou canst thou dost thought thunder thy dreams Titania tones trees TROMBONES Truth Twas unseen unto vision voice wake wandered warm waves Whyle wild winds wing words
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Стр. 67 - Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Стр. 51 - THOUGHT is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought; Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught. We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen.
Стр. 103 - There is a path which no fowl knoweth, And which the vulture's eye hath not seen: The lion's whelps have not trodden it, Nor the fierce lion passed by it.
Стр. 50 - ... Murmuring music in our ear — So thou talkest to the earth, After daylight's weary mirth. Is not human fantasy, Wild Aurora, likest thee, Blossoming in nightly dreams Like thy shifting meteor-gleams ? But a better type thou art Of the strivings of the heart, Reaching upwards from the earth To the Soul that gave it birth. When the noiseless beck of night Summons out the inner light, That hath hid its purer ray Through the lapses of the day — Then like thee, thou northern Morn, Instincts which...
Стр. 41 - When we perceive the light that breaks through the visible symbol, What exultation is ours ! We the discovery have made ! Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam lived sinless in Eden, Only long hidden it slept, and now again is revealed.
Стр. 51 - We are spirits clad in veils ; Man by man was never seen ; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen. Heart to heart was never known ; Mind with mind did never meet ; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete. Like the stars that gem the sky, Far apart, though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie : All is thus but starlight here.
Стр. 52 - Mind with mind did never meet ; We are columns, left alone, Of a temple once complete. Like the stars that gem the sky, Far apart, though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie ; All is thus but starlight here. What is social company But a babbling summer stream ? What our wise philosophy But the glancing of a dream ? Only when the sun of love Melts the scattered stars of thought; Only when we live above What the dim-eyed world hath taught ; Only when our souls are fed By the Fount which gave...
Стр. 74 - With us he lived a common life, And wore a plain familiar name, And meekly dared the vulgar strife That to inferior spirits came — Yet bore a pulse within, the world could never tame. And skies more soft than Italy's Their wealth of light around him spread, And tones were his, and only his— So sweetly floating o'er his head — None knew at what rich feast the favoured guest was fed.
Стр. 41 - God's hand-writing thereon. Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood overwhelmed him, While in the image of God every soul yet lived, Everything stood as a letter or word of a language familiar, Telling of truths which now only the angels can read. Lost to man was the key of those sacred hieroglyphics — Stolen away by sin — till with Jesus restored.
Стр. 53 - O'er my shoulder peepeth she, 0, she loves me royally ! Then she tells me many a tale, With her smile, so sheeny pale, Till my soul is overcast With such dream-light of the past, That I saddened needs must be, And I love her mournfully. Oft I gaze up in her eyes, Raying light through winter skies; Far away she saileth on; I am no Endymion; 0, she is too bright for me, And I love her hopelessly!