Aurora Leigh. Author's ed

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Page 274 - The type with mortal vision to pierce through, With eyes immortal to the antetype Some call the ideal, better called the real, And certain to be called so presently, When things shall have their names.
Page 1 - OF writing many books there is no end ; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine, — Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it 5 Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.
Page 38 - I flattered all the beauteous country round, As poets use, the skies, the clouds, the fields, The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to , carrying gold ; The tangled hedgerows, where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs, — hedgerows all alive With birds and gnats and large white butterflies Which look as if the May-flower had caught life And palpitated forth upon the wind...
Page 2 - Women know The way to rear up children (to be just), They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words...
Page 36 - And view the ground's most gentle dimplement, (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England) such an up and down Of verdure, — nothing too much up or down, A ripple of land ; such little hills, the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb...
Page 176 - O sorrowful great gift Conferred on poets, of a twofold life, When one life has been found enough for pain ! We, staggering 'neath our burden as mere men, Being called to stand up straight as demi-gods...
Page 208 - And so I am strong to love this noble France, This poet of the nations, who dreams on And wails on (while the household goes to wreck) For ever, after some ideal good...
Page 366 - Along the tingling desert of the sky, Beyond the circle of the conscious hills, Were laid in jasper-stone as clear as glass The first foundations of that new, near Day Which should be builded out of heaven to God.
Page 170 - Up there, — in fact, had travelled five miles off Or ere the giant image broke on them, Full human profile, nose and chin distinct, Mouth, muttering rhythms of silence up the sky, And fed at evening with the blood of suns ; Grand torso, — hand that flung perpetually The largesse of a silver river down To all the country pastures. 'Tis even thus With times we live in, — evermore too great To be apprehended near.

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