Festus – XLV (Philip James Bailey Poems)
'Twas held of old by some heresiarch sage,Whose nobler name time bruits not overmuch,That evil and good, twin powers, as ...
'Twas held of old by some heresiarch sage,Whose nobler name time bruits not overmuch,That evil and good, twin powers, as ...
Where e'er the fetter has been broken, Where e'er the bondsman has been freed,Where e'er a sentence has been spoken In behalf ...
To Mrs M___, to whom we were indebted for a haggis,whose amplitude was in somewise commensurate with the largeness of ...
Henley, June 7, 1891. Shall we, to whom the stream by right belongs, Who travel silent, save, perchance, for songs; Whose track's a ripple,—leaves the Thames a lake, Nor frights the swan—scarce makes the rushes shake; Who harmonize, exemplify, complete And vivify a scene already sweet: Who travel careless on, from lock to lock, Oblivious that the world contains a clock, With pace commensurate to our desires, Propelled by other force than Stygian fire's; Shall we be driven hence to leave a place For these, who bring upon our stream disgrace: The rush, the roar, the stench, the smoke, the steam, The nightmare striking through our heavenly dream; The scream as shrill and hateful to the ear As when a peacock vents his rage and fear; Which churn to fury all a glassy reach, And heave rude breakers on a pebbly beach: Which half o'erwhelm with waves our frailer craft, While graceless shop-boys chuckle fore and aft: Foul water-toadstools, noisome filth-stained shapes, Fit only to be manned by dogs and apes: Blots upon nature: scars that mar her smile: Obscene, obtrusive, execrable, vile? (James Kenneth Stephen)
Deep with divine tautology,The sunset's mighty mysteryAgain has traced the scroll-like westWith hieroglyphs of burning gold:Forever new, forever old,Its miracle ...
"IIN silence, solitude and stern surmise His faith was tried and proved commensurate With life and death. The ...
THE patient craftsman of the East who madeHis undulant dragons of the veined jade,And wound their sinuous volutes round the ...
IN that so temperate Soil Arcadia nam'd, For fertile Pasturage by Poets fam'd; Stands a steep Hill, whose lofty jetting ...
I never hear that one is dead Without the chance of Life Afresh annihilating me That mightiest Belief, Too mighty ...
Fire out of heaven, a flower of perfect fire, That where the roots of life are had its root And ...
NOTE.-The following imaginary dialogue between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, which is not based upon any specific incident in American ...
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