To the Stars: (a Drama in Four Acts)

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Poet Lore, 1907 - 51 pages
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Page 476 - Herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel Pipes of wretched straw, The hungry Sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim Wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door, Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Page 471 - A creed is a rod, And a crown is of night ; But this thing is God, To be man with thy might, To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life as the light.
Page 474 - If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Page 470 - I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me...
Page 527 - I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense; What will it be, When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed Love's thrice-reputed nectar?
Page 471 - The tree of faith ingraffed by priests Puts its foul foliage out above thee, And round it feed man-eating beasts Because of whom we dare not love thee ; Though hearts reach back and memories ache, We cannot praise thee for their sake.
Page 477 - I shall never, in the years remaining, Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues, Make you music that should all-express me; So it seems: I stand on my attainment. This of verse alone, one life allows me; Verse and nothing else have I to give you Other heights in other lives, God willing: All the gifts from all the heights, your own, love!
Page 477 - There will no man do for your sake, I think, What I would have done for the least word said. I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink, Broken it up for your daily bread : Body for body and blood for blood, As the flow of the full sea risen to flood That yearns and trembles before it sink, I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead.
Page 472 - Babes at birth Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven ; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech,, Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth.
Page 525 - An I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne, Thisne, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisbe dear, and lady dear!

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