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To the pure all things are pure. - [Chastity] What art thou Freedom? Oh, could slaves Answer from their living graves This demand, tyrants would flee Like a dim dream's imagery! Thou art Justice--ne'er for gold May thy righteous laws be sold, As laws are in England: thou Shield'st alike high and low. Thou art Peace--never by thee Would blood and treasure wasted be As tyrants wasted them when all Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul! Thou art love: the rich have kist Thy feet and like him following Christ Given their substance to be free And through the world have followed thee. - [Freedom] What is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves. - [Love] When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven. - [Joy] Where musing Solitude might love to lift her soul above this sphere of earthliness. - [Solitude] Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity. - Adonais (LII) [Eternity] Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief. - Adonais (st. 15) [Echo] Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year. - Adonais (st. 18) [Grief] Kiss me, so long but as a kiss my live; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss shall all thoughts else survive, With food of saddest memory kept alive. - Adonais (st. 26) [Kisses] The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow. - Adonais (XXX) [Eternity] Twilight, ascending slowly from the east, Entwined in duskier wreaths her braided locks O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of day; Night followed, clad with stars. - Alastor [Twilight] The lone couch of his everlasting sleep. - Alastor (l. 57) [Graves] The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying; And the year On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. - Autumn--A Dirge [Autumn] There is a snake in thy smile, my dear, And bitter poison within thy tear. - Beatrice Cenci [Smiles] First our pleasures die--and then Our hopes, and then our fears--and when These are dead, the debt is due, Dust claims dust--and we die too. - Death [Death] In the firm expectation that when London shall be a habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul and Westminster Abbey shall stand shapeless and nameless ruins in the midst of an unpeopled marsh, when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges and their historians. - Dedication to Peter Bell the Third [Ruin] January grey is here, Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps--but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers. - Dirge for the Year (st. 4) [Seasons] So is Hope Changed for Despair--one laid upon the shelf, We take the other. Under heaven's high cope Fortune is god--all you endure and do Depends on circumstance as much as you. - Epigrams--From the Greek [Fortune] Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rain Whose drops quench kisses till they burn again. - Epipsychidion (l. 571) [Sleep] These are two friends whose lives were undivided: So let their memory be, now they have glided Under the grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single-hearted. - Epitaph [Epitaphs] The babe is at peace with the womb, The corpse is at rest within the tomb. We begin in what we end. - Fragments [Death] Reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignant race. As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic. - Fragments of Adonais [Criticism] Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged, Of one abyss, where life and truth and joy Are swallowed up. - Fragments--Silence [Silence] The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set: While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on. - Hellas (l. 237) [Religion] Love's Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war. - Hellas (l. 321) [Love] Displaying page 3 of 8 for this author: << Prev Next >> 1 2 [3] 4 5 6 7 8
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