A Study of Clough, Arnold, Rossetti and Morris: With an Introd. on the Course of Poetry from 1822 to 1852

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I. Pitman, 1908 - English literature - 260 pages
 

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Page 218 - A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Page 28 - Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from ? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
Page 80 - A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again: The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know. A man becomes aware of his life's flow And hears its winding murmur, and he sees The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
Page 44 - Say not, the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain.
Page 113 - THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Page 79 - Calm soul of all things! make it mine To feel, amid the city's jar, That there abides a peace of thine, Man did not make, and cannot mar. The will to neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others give! Calm, calm me more! nor let me die Before I have begun to live.
Page 117 - See, on her face a glow is spread, A strong emotion on her cheek ! ' Ah child ! ' she cries, ' that strife divine, Whence was it, for it is not mine? ' There is no effort on my brow — I do not strive, I do not weep ; I rush with the swift spheres and glow In joy, and when I will, I sleep. Yet that severe, that earnest air, I saw, I felt it once — but where...
Page 148 - UNDER the arch of Life, where love and death, Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath.
Page 84 - Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Page 105 - Leaned on his gate, he gazes : tears Are in his eyes, and in his ears The murmur of a thousand years. Before him he sees life unroll, A placid and continuous whole, — That general life, which does not cease, Whose secret is not joy, but peace...

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