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accept appeared artist authority beauty become body cause century character Christian Church common conception critical death democratic desire divine duty earth effect emotions English existence expression external eyes face fact faith feeling follow force France French future George hand happy heart higher highest hope human idea ideal imagination important individual influence intellect interest Italy kind Lamennais less letters light literature living look material mind moral move movement nature never object pass passion past perfect period poems poet poetry political possessed possible present progress Quinet race reason relation religion religious remains represented scientific seemed sense Shelley side society soul spirit tender things thought tion true truth turn universe Victor Hugo Whitman whole Wordsworth writings
Page 101 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Page 522 - Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love — but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
Page 203 - Then comes the statelier Eden back to men : Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm : Then springs the crowning race of humankind. May these things be ! ' Sighing she spoke
Page 224 - There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Page 52 - Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to him whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Page 200 - AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king ; Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn — mud from a muddy spring ; Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know. But leech-like to their fainting country cling...
Page 216 - While man knows partly but conceives beside, Creeps ever on from fancies to the fact, And in this striving, this converting air Into a solid he may grasp and use, Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beasts' : God is, they are, Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.
Page 209 - I wanted warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot - now I see thee what thou art, Thou art the highest and most human too, Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none Will tell the King I love him tho
Page 224 - All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist ; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by-and-by.