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Página 98 - In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling...
Página 97 - gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride— For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes— The life still there, upon her hair— the death upon her eyes.
Página 33 - The property is bequeathed to the United States of America, " to found at Washington, under the name of the SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men.
Página 197 - And he, shall he Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Tho...
Página 197 - Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
Página 232 - ... a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.
Página 198 - No more ? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail ! O for thy voice to soothe and bless ! What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
Página 99 - Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells, Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells— To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells: To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Página 297 - Interpreter takes them apart again, and has them first into a room where was a man that could look no way but downwards, with a Muck-rake in his hand ; there stood also one over his head, with a Celestial Crown in his hand, and proffered him that Crown for his Muck-rake; but the man did neither look up nor regard, but raked to himself the straws, the small sticks, and dust of the floor.
Página 197 - So careful of the type'? but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, 'A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. 'Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more.