Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings
Tidings of approaching death.
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One word is too often profaned
One feeling too falsely disdainedFor thee to disdain it;One hope is too like despairFor prudence to smother;And pity from thee more dearThan that from another.I can give not what men call love;But wilt thou accept notThe worship the heart lifts aboveAnd the heavens reject not, —The desire of the moth for the star,Of the night…
I
Who totters forth, wrapp’d in a gauzy veil,Out of her chamber, led by the insaneAnd feeble wanderings of her fading brain,The mood arose up in the murky east,A white and shapeless mass.IIArt thou pale for wearinessOf climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,Wandering companionlessAmong the stars that have a different birth,And ever changing, like a…
‘Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling,
Around the dark tide of the tempest was swelling,Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling,They bodingly presaged destruction and woe!‘Twas then that I started, the wild storm was howling,Nought was seen, save the lightning that danced on the sky,Above me the crash of the thunder was rolling,And low, chilling murmurs the blast wafted by.–My heart…
CHORUS OF SPIRITS:
Palace-roof of cloudless nights!Paradise of golden lights!Deep, immeasurable, vast,Which art now, and which wert thenOf the Present and the Past,Of the eternal Where and When,Presence-chamber, temple, home,Ever-canopying dome,Of acts and ages yet to come!Glorious shapes have life in thee,Earth, and all earth’s company;Living globes which ever throngThy deep chasms and wildernesses;And green worlds that glide…
…
His name, they said, was Pleasure,And near him stood, glorious beyond measureFour Ladies who possess all emperyIn earth and air and sea,Nothing that lives from their award is free.Their names will I declare to thee,Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear,And they the regents areOf the four elements that frame the heart,And each diversely exercised her artBy…
PEOPLE of England, ye who toil and groan,
Who weave the clothes which your oppressors wear,And for your own take the inclement air;Who build warm houses . . .And are like gods who give them all they have,And nurse them from the cradle to the grave . . .