William Blake, Mystic: A Study

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Liverpool Booksellers Company, Limited, 1911 - 42 páginas
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Página 1 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Página 25 - The man who consecrates his hours By vigorous effort, and an honest aim, At once he draws the sting of life and death : He walks with nature ; and her paths are peace.
Página 3 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man! How passing wonder He who made him such, Who centred in our make such strange extremes!
Página 40 - The chamber, where the good man meets his fate, Is privileged beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Página 38 - Can gold gain friendship? impudence of hope! As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loan for love. Lorenzo ! pride repress, nor hope to find A friend, but what has found a friend in thee : All like the purchase, few the price will pay ; And this makes friends such miracles below.
Página 2 - Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world. Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound!
Página 7 - O ye blest scenes of permanent delight ! Full above measure ! lasting, beyond bound ! A perpetuity of bliss is bliss. Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end, That ghastly thought would drink up all your joy, And quite unparadise the realms of light.
Página 24 - Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings, And seems to creep decrepit with his age : Behold him, when past by ; what then is seen, But his broad pinions swifter than the winds ' And all mankind, in contradiction strong, Rueful — aghast— cry out on his career.
Página 27 - To drag your patient through the tedious length Of a short winter's day — say, sages ! say, Wit's oracles! say, dreamers of gay dreams!
Página 28 - Conscience! while she seems to sleep On rose and myrtle, lull'd with syren song; While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop On headlong Appetite the slacken'd rein, And give us up to license, unrecall'd, Unmark'd; — see, from behind her secret stand, The sly informer minutes every fault, And her dread diary with horror fills.

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