Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall So much as frown on you?
Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation,
Even in the matter of my innocence : Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm my eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? And if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him.
Oh! that there were a single mote in your's
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
EVENING IN PARADISE-ADAM'S CONVERSATION WITH EVE.
Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had, in her sober livery, all things clad: Silence accompanied; for beast and bird— They to their grassy couch, these their nests- Were sunk all, but the wakeful nightingale: She, all night long, her amorous descant sung; Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest; till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length,— Apparent queen! unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. "To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east With first approach of light, we must be risen, And at our pleasant labour; to reform Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green, Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, That mock our scant manuring, and require More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth; Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease; Meanwhile, as nature wills, night bids us rest. To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd :- "My author and disposer! what thou bid'st,
Unargued I obey: so God ordains.
God is thy law; thou, mine: to know no more, Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise! With thee conversing, I forget all time,
All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first, on this delightful land, he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth,, After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train :— But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land: nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird; nor walk by noon Or glittering starlight,-without thee, is sweet!"
Ah! whence yon glare
A little, 'tis a little word
All's for the best! be sanguine and cheerful Angry looks can do no good
Answer me, burning stars of night-
As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean A wet sheet and a flowing sea
Beautiful, sublime, and glorious
Behold! Palmyra's ruined palaces
Beside yon struggling fence that skirts the way Between two worlds life hovers like a star - Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Faintly flow thou falling river Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel Father of all! who reign'st above
For man to tell how human life began Freeborn and beautiful, the mountain Friend after friend departs
Go, when the morning shineth
Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood
Hail! sovereign of the world of Floods! whose majesty Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Hark! whence that rushing sound
Have you a heart? When your head did but ache
He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free High on a bright and sunny bed
How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord
How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
How dear to my heart are the days of my childhood
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
How wonderful is Death
I am monarch of all I survey
I am old and blind
I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn Idler, why lie down to die-
If solitude hath ever led thy steps
I hear thee speak of a better land
I love it, I love it; and who shall dare
I love to look on a scene like this
It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well I remember, I remember
I wandered lonely as a cloud
It was a summer's evening
"Little by little," an acorn said
Lo! now the ways of heav'n's eternal King Look on yonder earth
Nay, speak no ill! a kindly word
"Never give up!" 'tis the secret of glory
Not world on world in phalanx deep
Now came still evening on, and twilight gray
Oh! bless'd of heaven, whom not the languid songs
Oh! never chide the wing of time
O for a lodge in some vast wilderness
O maiden, heir of kings
O Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear Oh, water for me, bright water for me
Pause not to dream of the future before us
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll !
Sleep, little baby! sleep
Slow passed the night, and now, with silver ray
Sound the the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea Speak gently, it is better far
Spring! Spring! beautiful spring
Star of Morning! leave thy bed
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain
The deep affections of the breast
The King is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest
The Lord my pasture shall prepare
The month was August and the morning cool
The rich man's son inherits lands
The scene was more beautiful far to my eye
The shades of night were falling fast The way was long, the wind was cold There's a good time coming, boys There is a flower, a little flower There is a sunbeam beautifully shining There is a tide in the affairs of men There lives and works
The quality of mercy is not strained There's not a leaf within the bower There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream These are thy glorious works, parent of good These as they change, Almighty Father, these This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling This world is all a fleeting show Though hard my daily labour Thou art, O God! the life and light Those evening bells! those evening bells To be, or not to be-that is the question Tread softly-bow the head
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside
'Twas the glorious dawn of a sweet spring day
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower - We watched her breathing through the night Well might the thoughtful race of old
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