Art and eloquence,
And all the shows o' the world, are frail and vain
To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.
Art and eloquence,
And all the shows o' the world, are frail and vain
To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?
The serpent heard it flicker
In sleep, and, dreaming still, he crept afar.
Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.
I was about to speak, when--"We are even
Now at the point I meant," said Maddalo,
And bade the gondolieri cease to row.
And every motion, odour, beam and tone,
With that deep music is in unison:
Which is a soul within the soul--they seem
Like echoes of an antenatal dream.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay
This was the tenour of my waking dream.
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead --
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dedal earth,
And of heaven, and the Giant wars,
And love, and death, and birth.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
What is it with thee, love?
The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want worse need for them. The wise want love and those who love want wisdom And all best things are thus confused to ill.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories