For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.
For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.
Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world, and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary. You may argue against it but you should no more treat it with disrespect than a perfectly cultivated writer would treat (say) the Catholic Church or the Church of Luther no matter how much he disliked them.
The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.
The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.
I would mould a world of fire and dew.
And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight.
Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.
Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.
Time to put off the world and go somewhereAnd find my health again in the sea air,Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,And make my soul before my pate is bare.
If I make the lashes darkAnd the eyes more brightAnd the lips more scarlet,Or ask if all be rightFrom mirror after mirror,No vanity's displayedI'm looking for the face I hadBefore the world was made.
Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories