The Holy Grail

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Macmillan and Company, 1893 - 86 pages

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Page 58 - God ! methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now ; To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, — How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Page xiii - Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes ? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Page 57 - A gentle sound, an awful light ! Three angels bear the holy Grail : With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail.
Page 47 - I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword — and how I...
Page 33 - And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent...
Page 57 - My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
Page xii - A glorious company, the flower of men, To serve as model for the mighty world, And be the fair beginning of a time.
Page 17 - Redder than any rose, a joy to me, For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. Then in a moment when they blazed again Opening, I saw the least of little stars Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star I saw the spiritual city and all her spires And gateways in a glory like one pearl — No larger, tho...
Page 82 - And more, my son! for more than once when I Sat all alone, revolving in myself The word that is the symbol of myself, The mortal limit of the Self was loosed, And past into the Nameless, as a cloud Melts into Heaven. I touch'd my limbs, the limbs Were strange not mine — and yet no shade of doubt, But utter clearness, and thro...
Page xxviii - Streamed through my cell a cold and silver beam, And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, Rose-red with beatings [in it...

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