Miscellaneous Poems

الغلاف الأمامي
William Benbow, 1826 - 144 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 129 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
الصفحة 131 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground...
الصفحة 2 - THE fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?
الصفحة 39 - Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night— Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!
الصفحة 10 - One word is too often profaned For me to profane it ; One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it ; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother ; And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love : But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above, And the Heavens reject not : The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?' (1821.) LAST CHORUS OF
الصفحة 129 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
الصفحة 50 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
الصفحة 130 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine! I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
الصفحة 90 - THE everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves. Now dark — now glittering — now reflecting gloom — Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters, — with a sound but half its own...
الصفحة 130 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be ; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

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