Poems,

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Page 197 - And immediately I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the throne. And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald.
Page 162 - Art thou better than populous No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose rampart was the sea, and her wall was from the sea?
Page 129 - And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All...
Page 199 - Believe thou, O my soul, Life is a vision shadowy of Truth ; And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave, Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire, And lo ! the Throne of the redeeming God Forth flashing unimaginable day Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell.
Page 27 - MAID of my Love, sweet GENEVIEVE! In Beauty's light you glide along : Your eye is like the star of eve, And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song. Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives This heart with passion soft to glow : Within your soul a VOICE there lives ! It bids you hear the tale of Woe. When sinking low the Sufferer wan Beholds no hand outstretcht to save, Fair, as the bosom of the Swan That rises graceful o'er the wave, I've seen your breast with pity heave, And therefore love I you, sweet GENEVIEVE...
Page 102 - OFT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep ; and some have said We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.
Page 129 - And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute...
Page 99 - SCHILLER ! that hour I would have wished to die, If through the shuddering midnight I had sent From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent That fearful voice, a famished Father's cry — Lest in some after moment aught more mean Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout Black Horror...
Page 133 - Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ; And seats and lawns, the abbey and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire...
Page xi - Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward; it has soothed my afflictions ; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude, and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.

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