The Spirit of Man: An Anthology in English & French from the Philosophers & Poets, Made by the Poet Laureate in 1915 & Dedicated by Gracious Permission to His Majesty the King
Longmans, Green & Company, 1916 - 336 pagina's
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The Spirit of Man: An Anthology in English & French from the Philosophers ...
Fragmentweergave - 1916
The Spirit of Man: An Anthology in English and French from the Philosophers ...
Robert Seymour Bridges
Geen voorbeeld beschikbaar - 2017
The Spirit of Man: An Anthology in English and French From the Philosophers ...
Robert Seymour Bridges
Geen voorbeeld beschikbaar - 2016
asked beauty birds body born breath bright bring c'est cloud dark dead dear death deep delight desire divine doth dream earth eternal evil eyes face fair fear feel flowers forms give glory grave green hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour human leaves light live look means MILTON mind morn mortal move nature never night once pain pass pleasure Poems reason rest round seek seems seen SHAKESPEARE SHELLEY sight silent sing sleep Song sorrow soul sound spirit Spring sweet tears tell thee things thou art thought true truth turn universe unto virtue voice waters waves whole wild wind wisdom woods youth
Pagina 65 - But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Pagina 457 - We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Pagina 469 - And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it, for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows fly ; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Pagina 251 - And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare...
Pagina 199 - And, father cardinal, I have heard you say That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born.
Pagina 183 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Pagina 193 - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Pagina 9 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Pagina 179 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.