The Untempered Wind

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J. Selwin Tait and Sons, 1894 - 314 ページ
 

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243 ページ - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure...
76 ページ - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
284 ページ - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
130 ページ - In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook. Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look ; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time. Ah ! would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy ! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy ? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it — Was never said in rhyme.
255 ページ - WHEN some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new — What hope ? what help ? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh. Not reason's subtle count. Not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew. Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees To the clear moon ! nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted,...
249 ページ - We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most — feels the noblest — acts the best.
10 ページ - Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, 'The night is dreary, He cometh not...
56 ページ - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
101 ページ - Ah, sister ! Desolation is a delicate thing : It walks not on the earth, it floats not on the air, But treads with lulling footstep, and fans with silent wing The tender hopes which in their hearts the best and gentlest bear...
26 ページ - There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, ' I am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!

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