Passion-flower

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Page 174 - I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Page 239 - You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.
Page 297 - The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
Page 64 - Sick — sick ; unfound the boon — unslaked the thirst, Though to the last, in verge of our decay, Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — But all too late, — so are we doubly curst, Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same — Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst — For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.
Page 62 - I will recount to thee all my years in the bitterness of my soul. O Lord, if man's life be such, and the life of my spirit be in such things as these, thou shalt correct me and make me to live. Behold, in peace is my bitterness most bitter...
Page 9 - As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee; So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean.
Page 285 - WE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west...
Page 137 - There is the moral of all human tales; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory— when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption,— barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page...
Page 305 - If thou take away from the midst of thee the yoke, the putting forth of the finger, and speaking vanity; and if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon-day...
Page 83 - Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd: For contemplation he and valour form'd; For softness she, and sweet attractive grace...

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