The Old House Altered

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Page 44 - It had been wild weather when I left Rome, and all across the Campagna the clouds were sweeping in sulphurous blue, with a clap of thunder or two, and breaking gleams of sun along the Claudian aqueduct lighting up the infinity of its arches like the bridge of chaos.
Page 45 - ... dark though flushed with scarlet lichen, casting their quiet shadows across its restless radiance, the fountain underneath them filling its marble hollow with blue mist and fitful sound ; and over all, the multitudinous bars of amber and rose, the sacred clouds that have no darkness and only exist to...
Page 174 - To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way For honour travels in a strait so narrow, W'here one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost...
Page 44 - I cannot call it color, it was conflagration. Purple, and crimson, and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the rejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every separate leaf quivering with buoyant and burning life ; each, as it turned to reflect or to transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then an emerald. Far up into the recesses of the valley, the green vistas arched like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea, with the arbutus flowers dashed along their...
Page 32 - Among the stones I stood a stone, And was, scarce conscious what I wist, As shrubless crags within the mist ; For all was blank, and bleak, and...
Page 44 - The noon-day sun came slanting down the rocky slopes of La Riccia, and its masses of entangled and tall foliage, whose autumnal tints were mixed with the wet verdure of a thousand evergreens, were penetrated with it as with rain. I cannot call it colour, it was conflagration. Purple, and crimson, and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the rejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every separate leaf quivering with buoyant and burning life; each, as it turned to reflect...
Page 45 - This cherry creeper greets in whisper light, While the grim fir, rejoicing in the night, Hoarse mutters to the murmuring sycamore.* What shall I deem their converse? would they hail The wild grey light that fronts yon massive cloud, Or the half bow, rising like pillared fire ? Or are they sighing faintly for desire That with May dawn their leaves may be o'erflowed, And dews about their feet may never fail.
Page 45 - The garden trees are busy with the shower That fell ere sunset : now methinks they talk, Lowly and sweetly as befits the hour, One to another down the grassy walk. Hark the laburnum from his opening flower This...
Page 45 - ... scarlet lichen, casting their quiet shadows across its restless radiance, the fountain underneath them filling its marble hollow with blue mist and fitful sound ; and over all, the multitudinous bars of amber and rose, the sacred clouds that have no darkness, and only exist to illumine, were seen in fathomless intervals between the solemn and orbed repose of the stone pines, passing to lose themselves in the last, white, blinding lustre of the measureless line where the Campagna melted into the...

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