From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
Sweet is true love, though given in vain.
For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.
Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? ...Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? ‘The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.’ - Tithonus
And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.
Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.
All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.
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