Thoreau, the Poet-naturalist: With Memorial Verses

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C. E. Goodspeed, 1902 - 396 pages
 

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Page 180 - Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace. The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low!
Page 228 - tis the soul of peace : Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit : The first true gentleman, that ever breathed.
Page 180 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light ; You common people of the skies ; What are you when the moon shall rise?
Page 71 - I hearing get, who had but ears, And sight, who had but eyes before; I moments live, who lived but years, And truth discern, who knew but learning's lore.
Page 263 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall: Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 304 - Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man ? Three treasures, love, and light, And calm thoughts regular as infant's breath : And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
Page 55 - Next Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs, Had in him those brave translunary things That the first poets had ; his raptures were All air and fire, which made his verses clear ; For that fine madness still he did retain Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.
Page viii - To th' instruments divine respondence meet: The silver sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall : The waters fall with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call : The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.
Page 138 - She sings thy tears asleep, and dips Her kisses in thy weeping eye; She spreads the red leaves of thy lips, That in their buds yet blushing lie. She 'gainst those mother-diamonds tries The points of her young eagle's eyes. Welcome — though not to those gay flies, Gilded i...
Page 88 - How can we expect a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of character? Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to expectations. I ask to be melted. You can only ask of the metals that they be tender to the fire that melts them. To nought else can they be tender.

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