In memoriam

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1850 - 216 oldal
 

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i. oldal - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
73. oldal - The baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that 'this is I :' But as he grows he gathers much, And learns the use of 'I,' and 'me,' And finds 'I am not what I see, And other than the things I touch.
148. oldal - There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.
78. oldal - Be near me when my light is low, When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick And tingle ; and the heart is sick, And all the wheels of Being slow.
23. oldal - Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers, And crowded farms and lessening towers, To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air, These leaves that redden to the fall; And in my heart, if calm at all, If any calm, a calm despair: Calm on the seas, and silver sleep, And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. XII. Lo, as a dove when up she springs To bear thro...
182. oldal - Let her know her place ; She is the second, not the first. A higher hand must make her mild, If all be not in vain, and guide Her footsteps, moving side by side With Wisdom, like the younger child ; For she is earthly of the mind, But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
206. oldal - I seem in star and flower To feel thee some diffusive power, I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before; My love is vaster passion now; Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, I seem to love thee more and more.
86. oldal - Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more.
107. oldal - As sometimes in a dead man's face, To those that watch it more and more, A likeness hardly seen before Comes out, — to some one of his race : So, dearest, now thy brows are cold, I see thee what thou art, and know Thy likeness to the wise below, Thy kindred with the great of old.
22. oldal - CALM is the morn without a sound, Calm as to suit a calmer grief, And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground : Calm and deep peace on this high wold, And on these dews that drench the furze, And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold : Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers, And crowded farms...

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