Some Authors: A Collection of Literary Essays 1896-1916

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Clarendon Press, 1923 - 332 pages
 

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Page 298 - That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Page 114 - It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate. When two are stripped, long ere the course begin We wish that one should lose, the other win. And one especially do we affect Of two gold ingots like in each respect. The reason no man knows; let it suffice What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Page 291 - To suffer woes which hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy power which seems omnipotent; To love and bear; to hope till hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates...
Page 46 - The generall end therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline...
Page 263 - It is right it should be so; Man was made for Joy and Woe; And when this we rightly know, Thro' the World we safely go, Joy and Woe are woven fine, A Clothing for the soul divine.
Page 294 - On a poet's lips I slept, Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept. Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be : But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality.
Page 277 - Love seeketh not Itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." So sung a little Clod of Clay Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet: "Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to Its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.
Page 169 - O'ertops thy talent in thy very trade : Doeg, to thee thy paintings are so coarse, A poet is, though he's the poet's horse. A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, For writing treason, and for writing dull: To die for faction is a common evil, But to be hanged for nonsense is the devil.
Page 263 - Bring me my Bow of burning gold : Bring me my Arrows of desire : Bring me my Spear : O clouds unfold ! Bring me my Chariot of fire. I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant Land.
Page 166 - The spirit gave the doctoral degree, And every member of a company Was of his trade, and of the Bible, free. Plain truths enough for needful use they found ; But men would still be itching to expound ; Each was ambitious of th' obscurest place, No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grace.

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