Odes [signed C.P.].

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1868
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Page 28 - Was all conceiv'd in the Creator's mirth, Forecasting at the time Man's spirit deep, To make dirt cheap. Put by the Telescope ! Better without it man may see, Stretch'd awful in the hush'd midnight, The ghost of his eternity. Give me the nobler glass that swells to the eye The things which near us lie, Till Science rapturously hails, In the minutest water-drop, A torment of innumerable tails.
Page 30 - Love, light for me Thy ruddiest blazing torch, That I, albeit a beggar by the Porch Of the glad Palace of Virginity, May gaze within, and sing the pomp I see; For, crown'd with roses all, 'Tis there, O Love, they keep thy festival! But first warn off the beatific spot Those wretched who have not Even afar beheld the shining wall, And those who, once beholding, have forgot, And those, most vile, who dress The charnel spectre drear Of utterly dishallow'd nothingness In that refulgent fame, And cry,...
Page 5 - I meant to have extended and developed this series of Odes until they formed an integral work expressing an idea which I have long had at heart...
Page 41 - In the Year of the great Crime, When the false English nobles and their Jew, By God demented, slew The Trust they stood thrice pledged to keep from wrong, . . .
Page 40 - But doubtful smiles, at last, 'mid thy denials lurk; From which I spell, 'Humility and greatness grace the task Which he who does it deems impossible!' XVIII. DEAD LANGUAGE. 'Thou dost not wisely, Bard. A double voice is Truth's, to use at will: One, with the abysmal scorn of good for ill, Smiting the brutish ear with doctrine hard, Wherein She strives to look as near a lie As can comport with her divinity; The other tender-soft as seem The embraces of a dead Love in a dream. These thoughts, which...
Page 25 - That I should wait for thee To woo ! Nor even dare to love, till thou lov'st me. How shameful, too, Is this : That, when thou lov'st, I am at first afraid Of thy fierce kiss, Like a young maid ; And only trust thy charms And get my courage in thy throbbing arms. And, when thou partest, what a fickle mind Thou leav'st behind, That, being a little absent from mine eye, It straight forgets thee what thou art, And ofttimes my adulterate heart Dallies with Pleasure, thy pale enemy. O, for the learned...
Page 19 - Heroic Good, target for which the young Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung, And, missing, sigh Unfruitful, or as disbelievers die, Thee having miss'd, I will not so revolt, But lowlier shoot my bolt, And lowlier still, if still I may not reach, And my proud stomach teach That less than highest is good, and may be high.
Page 22 - O, Pain, Love's mystery, Close next of kin To joy and heart's delight, Low Pleasure's opposite, Choice food of sanctity And medicine of sin, Angel, whom even they that will pursue Pleasure with hell's whole gust Find that they must Perversely woo, My lips, thy live coal touching, speak thee true.
Page 32 - Crashaw's verse are to be found in such lines as these: The clouds of summer kiss in flame and rain, And are not found again; But the heavens themselves eternal are with fire Of unapproach'd desire, By the aching heart of Love, which cannot rest, In blissfullest pathos so indeed possess'd. O, spousals high; O, doctrine blest, Unutterable in even the happiest sigh. After this, we are not surprised when Francis Thompson, who was made a poet by Patmore, sings with that disarming naivete which is of...
Page 13 - Well'd yet awhile with honey of thy love And then was dry ; Nor could thy picture, nor thine empty glove, Nor all thy kind, long letters, nor the band Which really spann'd Thy body chaste and warm, Thenceforward move Upon the stony rock their wearied charm. At last, then, thou wast dead. Yet would I not despair, But wrought my daily task, and daily said Many and many a fond, unfeeling prayer, To keep my vows of faith to thee from harm. In vain. ' For 'tis,' I said, ' all one, The wilful faith, which...

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