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ambition angels awful beneath bids bless bliss boast Britain cause charms crown dare dark dead death deep divine dread dust earth eternal fair fall fame fate fear fire flame fool gain genius give glorious glory gods grace grave hand happiness head hear heart heaven hope hour human immortal kind leave less light live look lord Lorenzo man's mankind mean mighty mind mortal muse nature nature's never night o'er once pain passion peace pleasure poor praise pride proud raise reason rich rise round sacred scene seas sense shine sight skies smile song soul stand stars strong thee theme thine things thou thought throne triumph true truth turn virtue whole wisdom wise wish wonder write Young
1. oldal - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
8. oldal - All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise; At least their own their future selves applaud; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead! Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails; That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consign; The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone.
8. oldal - Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, " That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born : All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise; At least their own; their future selves...
1. oldal - Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the Deity ! A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt ! Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust : Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost.
297. oldal - Think nought a trifle, though it small appear ; Small sands the mountain, moments make the year, And trifles life.
4. oldal - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
277. oldal - I'm nearer death in this verse than the last : What then is to be done ? be wise with speed : A fool at forty is a fool indeed.
17. oldal - Where shall I find Him ? Angels ! tell me where. You know him ; He is near you : point him out : Shall I see glories beaming from his brow ? Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers...
149. oldal - Attend my song, and thou shalt know them all ; And know thyself; and know thyself to be (Strange truth !) the most abstemious man alive.