Tennyson, His Art and Relation to Modern Life, 1 tomas

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Isbister & Company, Limited, 1900

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127 psl. - The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
241 psl. - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
244 psl. - A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee: Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see...
122 psl. - Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for), but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear ; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
197 psl. - Thy voice is on the rolling air ; I hear thee where the waters run ; Thou standest in the rising sun. And in the setting thou art fair.
127 psl. - I am a part of all that I have met ; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move ; How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use ! As tho
86 psl. - You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night ; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.
198 psl. - Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, I seem to love thee more and more. Far off thou art, but ever nigh; I have thee still, and I rejoice; I prosper, circled with thy voice; 1 shall not lose thee tho
217 psl. - The living soul was flash'd on mine, And mine in this was wound, and whirl'd About empyreal heights of thought, And came on that which is, and caught The deep pulsations of the world, Aloninn music measuring out The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — The blows of Death. At length, my trance Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt. •"Vague words ! but ah, how hard to frame In matter-moulded forms of speech, Or ev'n for intellect to reach Thro...
75 psl. - He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, An open scroll, Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded The...

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