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beams Beatrice beautiful beneath blood breath bright calm cause child clouds cold crime dare dark dead death deep dream earth evil eyes fair father fear feel fell fire flow flowers gentle grave green grew hair hand happy hate hear heard heart heaven hope hour human Italy knew leaves light lips living looks mighty mind moon morning mother mountains nature never night o'er ocean once pain pale pass passion past peace Peter poem rest round ruin seemed sense shadow shapes silent slaves sleep smile soon soul sound speak spirit stand stars strange stream sweet swift tears thee thine things thou thou art thought throne truth turned tyrant voice wandering waves wide wild wind wings youth
Strona 258 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
Strona 257 - Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea ; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains ; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
Strona 297 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how?
Strona 290 - Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me ? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side ? Wouldst thou me ? And I replied, No, not thee...
Strona 257 - Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle. Why not I with thine...
Strona 287 - Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais! I would give All that I am to be as thou now art! But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart!
Strona 258 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine- own kind ? what ignorance of pain...
Strona 289 - Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou!
Strona 258 - All the earth and air with thy voice is loud, as when night is bare, from one lonely cloud the moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not: what is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see, as from thy presence showers a rain of melody.