Hymns of the Marshes

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Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907 - American poetry - 61 pages
 

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Page 15 - The skies Shine scant with one forked galaxy, — The marsh brags ten: looped on his breast they lie. Oh, what if a sound should be made! Oh, what if a bound should be laid To this bow-and-string tension of beauty and silence a-spring, — To the bend of beauty the bow, or the hold of silence the string...
Page 11 - Just to be fellow'd, when that thou hast found No man with room, or grace enough of bound To entertain that New thou tell'st, thou art, — 'Tis here, 'tis here, thou canst unhand thy heart And breathe it free, and breathe it free, By rangy marsh, in lone sea-liberty. The tide's at full: the marsh with flooded streams Glimmers, a limpid labyrinth of dreams.
Page 27 - The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town: But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done; I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun: How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run, I am lit with the Sun.
Page 37 - tis free. The artist trembles o'er his plan Where men his Self must see. Who made a song or picture, he Did it, and not another, God nor man.
Page 41 - I'll be. Over the humped and fishy sea, Over the Caliban sea O cloud in the West, like a thought in the heart Of pardon, loose thy wing, and start, And do a grace for me. Over the huge and huddling sea, Over the Caliban sea...

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