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Sayfa 30 - When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart — Go forth, under the open sky, and list To nature's teachings, while from all around — Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice...
Sayfa 131 - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings ; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Sayfa 30 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language : for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And gentle sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.
Sayfa 221 - It's striking, but is it Art ?" The stone was dropped by the quarry-side, and the idle derrick swung, While each man talked of the aims of art, and each in an alien tongue. They fought and they talked in the north and the south, they talked and they fought in the west, Till the waters rose on the...
Sayfa 118 - But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace. She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
Sayfa 129 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Sayfa 106 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Sayfa 117 - She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Sayfa 121 - Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found : Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.