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admirable afterwards appears Bartholomew Fair beautiful Bellay Ben Jonson Blake Blake's Burns called Cardinal du Bellay Chinon Church comedy Comte d'Harcourt Cynthia's Revels death Divine doth drink Drugger Drummond edition English Epigram Face father fire French genius George Chapman Gifford give hath heart heaven hell Hogg honour human humour inspiration Jonson judgment king lady letter light living Lord Marguerite of Navarre master mind Muse nature never night noble notes Pantagruel passage piece pipe poems poet poetry poor quoted Rabelais reader remarked Robert Browning Saint-Amant says scarcely Scott Sejanus Shakespeare Shelley Shelley's Shepherd Silent Woman smoke snuff song Sordello soul speak spirit subtle Swedenborg sweet Swinburne thee things thou thought tion tobacco truth verse Volpone volume Wilkinson William Blake Wilson wine words writing written wrote young
Page 287 - That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Page 158 - Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
Page 141 - My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his place, or honours: but I have and do reverence him, for the greatness that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed, that God would give him strength; for greatness he could not want.
Page 147 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Page 457 - I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Page 287 - ... bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move...
Page 281 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Page 137 - Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.