His gentle heroic manhood enters in
The ever-flowering common heart for home.
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I bade my Lady think what she might mean.
And yet be jealous of another? NoneCommits such folly. Terrible Love, I ween,Has might, even dead, half sighing to upheaveThe lightless seas of selfishness amain:Seas that in a man’s heart have no rainTo fall and still them. Peace can I achieve,By turning to this fountain-source of woe,This woman, who’s to Love as fire to wood?She…
Earth loves her young: a preference manifest:
Their beauty with her choicest interthreads,And makes her revel of their merry zest;As in our East much were it in our West,If men had risen to do the work of heads.Her gabbling grey she eyes askant, nor treadsThe ways they walk; by what they speak oppressed.How wrought they in their zenith? ‘Tis not writ;Not all;…
We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,
We had not to look back on summer joys,Or forward to a summer of bright dye:But in the largeness of the evening earthOur spirits grew as we went side by side.The hour became her husband and my bride.Love that had robbed us so, thus blessed our dearth!The pilgrims of the year waxed very loudIn multitudinous…
An inspiration caught from dubious hues
For they lead farther than the single-faced,Wave subtler promise when desire pursues.The moon of cloud discoloured was his Muse,His pipe the reed of the old moaning waste.Love was to him with anguish fast enlaced,And Beauty where she walked blood-shot the dews.Men railed at such a singer; women thrilledResponsively: he sang not Nature’s ownDivinest, but his…
Not solitarily in fields we find
Her plainest, such as children spell, and shareWith bird and beast; raised letters for the blind.Not where the troubled passions toss the mind,In turbid cities, can the key be bare.It hangs for those who hither thither fare,Close interthreading nature with our kind.They, hearing History speak, of what men were,And have become, are wise. The gain…
[Iliad, B. XI. V. 148]
Onward rushed, and with him rushed all of the bright-greaved Achaians.Foot then footmen slew, that were flying from direful compulsion,Horse at the horsemen (up from off under them mounted the dust-cloud,Up off the plain, raised up cloud-thick by the thundering horse-hooves)Hewed with the sword’s sharp edge; and so meanwhile Lord AgamemnonFollowed, chasing and slaughtering aye,…