THE HERMIT OF CARMEL AND OTHER POEMS (Google eBook)

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1901
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Page 120 - THE RUSTIC AT THE PLAY Our youth is like a rustic at the play That cries aloud in simple-hearted fear, Curses the villain, shudders at the fray, And weeps before the maiden's wreathed bier. Yet once familiar with the changeful show, He starts no longer at a brandished knife, But, his heart chastened at the sight of woe, Ponders the mirrored sorrows of his life.
Page 153 - Sculptor, lay by the clay On which thy nerveless finger May linger, Thy thoughts flown far away. Keep to Carrara rare, Struggle with Paros cold, That hold The subtle line and fair. Lest haply nature lose That proud, that perfect line, Make thine The bronze of Syracuse. And with a tender dread Upon an agate's face Retrace Apollo's golden head. Despise a watery hue And tints that soon expire.
Page 103 - And breathe the vigour of the freshening wind, And with the piling drift of cloud I hold A worship sweeter to the homeless mind, Where the squat willows with their osiers crowned Border the humble reaches of the Cam, Exile not only from the wind-swept moor Where Guadarrama lifts his purple crest, But from the spirit's realm, celestial, sure Goal of all hope and vision of the best.
Page 154 - Lest haply nature lose That proud, that perfect line, Make thine The bronze of Syracuse. And with a tender dread Upon an agate's face Retrace Apollo's golden head. Despise a watery hue And tints that soon expire. With fire Burn thine enamel true. Twine, twine in artful wise The blue-green mermaid's arms, Mid charms Of thousand heraldries. Show in their triple lobe Virgin and Child, that hold Their globe, Cross-crowned and aureoled. —All things return to dust Save beauties fashioned well. The bust...
Page 139 - RAVISHED by all that to the eyes is fair, Yet hungry for the joys that truly bless, My soul can find no stair To mount to heaven, save earth's loveliness. For from the stars above Descends a glorious light That lifts our longing to their highest height And bears the name of love. Nor is there aught can move A gentle heart, or purge or make it wise, But beauty and the starlight of her eyes.
Page 137 - Or passing rumour ringing in my ears, Or dreamy vision, once my bosom's guest, That left behind I know not what unrest, Haply the reason of these wayward tears. But what I feel and seek, what leads me on, Comes not of me ; nor can I tell aright Where shines the hidden star that sheds this light. Since I beheld thee, sweet and bitter fight Within me. Resolution have I none. Can this be, Master, what thine eyes have done ? II "// mio refugio...
Page 111 - Youth dies irj man's benumbed soul, Maid bows to woman's broken life, A thousand leagues of silence roll Between the husband and the wife. The spirit faints with inward strife And lonely gazing at the pole. But how should reptiles pine for wings Or a parched desert know its dearth ? Immortal is the soul that sings The sorrow of her mortal birth. O cruel beauty of the earth!
Page 146 - That little pebble stops you, and you dread To bruise your tender feet. You cry aloud that life is but a dream, And, to the truth awaking, wring your hands, And grieve your bubble but a moment stands Upon time's foaming stream. Poor fools ! That moment when your soul could shake The numbing fetters off that it enthrall, That fleeting moment was your all in all — Oh, mourn not for its sake! .-•• But rather mourn your weight of earthly dross, Your joyless toil, your stains of blood and mire,...
Page 202 - Cousin Sammy's gone a-tooting to the Creole County fair, Where the very sun's polluting and there's fever in the air. "He has picked up three young lasses, three mulattoes on the mart, Who have offered him free passes to their fortune and their heart.
Page 87 - Till haply, lightning through the storm of ages, Our sullen secret flash from sky to sky, Glowing in some diviner poet's pages And swelling into rapture from this sigh. > SOLIPSISM • • I COULD believe that I am here alone, And all the world my dream; The passion of the scene is all my own, And things that seem but seem. Perchance an exhalation of my sorrow Hath raised this vaporous show, For whence but from my soul should all things borrow So deep a tinge__pf woe J. I keep the secret doubt within...

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