Many Moods: A Volume of Verse

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Smith, Elder, 1878 - English poetry - 254 pages
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Page vi - O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: "Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage; But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.
Page 209 - Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows...
Page 203 - From that first man who named the name of heaven, To him who weighs the planets as they roll, And knows what laws to every life are given. Yet He appears not. Round the extreme sphere Of science still thin ether floats unseen : Darkness still wraps Him round ; and ignorant fear Remains of what we are, and what have been. Only we feel Him ; and in aching dreams, Swift intuitions, pangs of keen delight, The sudden vision of His glory seems To sear our souls, dividing the dull night : And we yearn toward...
Page 148 - Death, thou art a shadow ! even as light Is but the shadow of invisible God, And of that shade the shadow is thin Night, Veiling the earth whereon our feet have trod ; So art Thou but the shadow of this life, Itself the pale and unsubstantial shade Of living God, fulfilled by love and strife Throughout the universe Himself hath made : And as frail Night, following the flight of earth, Obscures the world we breathe in, for a while, So Thou, the reflex of our mortal birth, Veilest the life wherein...
Page 39 - Re-echoes to the tinkling tambourine, And feet of girls aglow with laughter glance In myriad mazy errors of the dance. How long he dallied with delusive joy I know not: but thereafter never more The peace of passionless slumber soothed the boy; For he was stricken to the very core With sickness of desire exceeding sore, And through the radiance of his eyes there shone Consuming fire too fierce to gaze upon.
Page 19 - That day the master at his easel Wielded the liberal brush wherewith he painted At Orvieto, on the Duomo's walls, Stern forms of Death and Heaven and Hell and Judgment. Then came they to him, cried : ' Thy son is dead, Slain in a duel : but the bloom of life Yet lingers round red lips and downy cheek.' Luca spoke not, but listened. Next they bore His dead son to the silent painting-room, And left on tiptoe son and sire alone. Still Luca spoke and groaned not ; but he raised The wonderful dead youth,...
Page 36 - LE JEUNE HOMME CARESSANT SA CHIMERE (FOR AN INTAGLIO) A boy of eighteen years 'mid myrtle-boughs Lying love-languid on a morn of May, Watched half-asleep his goats insatiate browse Thin shoots of thyme and lentisk, by the spray Of biting sea-winds bitter made and grey: Therewith when shadows fell, his waking thought Of love into a wondrous dream was wrought. A woman lay beside him, — so it seemed; For on her marble shoulders, like a mist Irradiate with tawny moonrise...
Page 19 - Luca spoke not, but listened. Next they bore His dead son to the silent painting-room, And left on tip-toe son and sire alone. Still Luca spoke and groaned not ; but he raised The wonderful dead youth, and smoothed his hair, Washed his red wounds, and laid him on a bed, Naked and beautiful, where rosy curtains Shed a soft glimmer of uncertain splendour Life-like upon the marble limbs below. Then Luca seized his palette : hour by hour Silence was in the room ; none durst approach : Morn wore to noon,...
Page 174 - I went a roaming through the woods alone, And heard the nightingale that made her moan. The voice, methought, was neither man's nor boy's, Nor bird's nor woman's, but all these in one : In Paradise perchance such perfect noise Resounds from angel choirs in unison, Chanting with cherubim their antiphon To Christ and Mary on the sapphire throne. I went a roaming through the woods alone, And heard the nightingale that made her moan. Then down the forest aisles there came a boy, Unearthly pale, with...
Page 5 - Ravenna in her widowhood — the waste Where dreams a withered ocean ; where the hand Of time has gently played with tombs defaced Of priest and emperor ; where the temples stand, Proud. in decay, in desolation grand, — Solemn and sad like clouds that lingeringly Sail and are loth to fade upon the sky: Siena, Bride of Solitude, whose eyes Are lifted o'er the russet hills to scan Immeasurable tracts of limpid skies, Arching those silent sullen plains where man Fades like a weed mid mouldering marshes...

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