Dramatic and later poems

Front Cover
Macmillan and Company, 1889
 

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 114 - Once read thy own breast right, And thou hast done with fears; Man gets no other light, Search he a thousand years. Sink in thyself! there ask what ails thee, at that shrine...
Page 131 - ... fairest, But all are divine. They are lost in the hollows ! They stream up again ! What seeks on this mountain The glorified train ? — They bathe on this mountain, In the spring by their road ; Then on to Olympus, Their endless abode. — Whose praise do they mention? Of what is it told ?— What will be for ever ; What was from of old. First hymn they the Father Of all things ; and then, The rest of immortals, The action of men. The day in his hotness The strife with the palm ; The night in...
Page 131 - Tis Apollo comes leading His choir, The Nine. — The Leader is fairest, But all are divine. They are lost in the hollows, They stream up again. What seeks on this mountain The glorified train ? — They bathe on this mountain, In the spring by their road.
Page 125 - Is it so small a thing To have enjoy'd the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done...
Page 138 - But mind, but thought, If these have been the master part of us — Where will they find their parent element? What will receive them, who will call them home ? But we shall still be in them, and they in us, And we shall be the strangers of the world...
Page 125 - s loath to leave this life Which to him little yields — His hard-task'd sunburnt wife, His often-labour'd fields, The boors with whom he talk'd, the country-spots he knew. But thou, because thou hear'st Men scoff at Heaven and Fate, Because the Gods thou fear'st Fail to make blest thy state, - Tremblest, and wilt not dare to trust the joys there are ! I say : Fear not ! Life still Leaves human effort scope. But, since life teems with ill, Nurse no extravagant hope ; Because thou must not dream,...
Page 104 - tis not the sophists vex him; There is some root of suffering in himself, Some secret and unfollow'd vein of woe, Which makes the time look black and sad to him.
Page 153 - Birds, companions more unknown, Live beside us, but alone ; Finding not, do all they can, Passage from their souls to man. Kindness we bestow, and praise, Laud their plumage, greet their lays ; Still, beneath their feather'd breast, Stirs a history unexpress'd. Wishes there, and feelings strong, Incommunicably throng ; What they want, we cannot guess, Fail to track their deep distress — * Dull look on when death is nigh, Note no change, and let them die.
Page 113 - Scarce can one think in calm, so threatening are the Gods ; And we feel, day and night. The burden of ourselves. Well, then, the wiser wight In his own bosom delves, And asks what ails him so, and gets what cure he can. The sophist sneers : Fool, take Thy pleasure, right or wrong ! The pious wail : Forsake A world these sophists throng ! lie neither saint nor sophist-led, but be a man.
Page 135 - But we received the shock of mighty thoughts On simple minds with a pure natural joy...

Bibliographic information