The Theory of Poetry

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M. Seeker, 1926 - 222 pages
 

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Page 166 - O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hie jacet.
Page 55 - gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow; And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Page 108 - When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Page 74 - AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
Page 12 - Urania, I shall need Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven ! For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink .Deep — and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil.
Page 42 - Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, To scaud poor wretches ! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An...
Page 60 - TO DIANEME. SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies ; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free ; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air ; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone.
Page 61 - A Noiseless, Patient Spider A noiseless, patient spider, I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them — ever tirelessly speeding them.
Page 160 - Arise to thee; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms. And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Page 163 - This more delusive, not the touch, but taste Deceived ; they, fondly thinking to allay Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit Chew'd bitter ashes, which th...

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