The Dial, Volumes 40-41

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Francis Fisher Browne
Jansen, McClurg, 1906

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Página 248 - Out of the night that covers me. Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
Página 246 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Página 377 - In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened. And the doors shall be shut in the streets when the sound of the grinding is low...
Página 24 - That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and subtle, but to know That which before us lies in daily life, Is the prime wisdom...
Página 2 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave. And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Página 384 - Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own : He who, secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Página 247 - Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite, But in the onset come: so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortune's might; And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
Página 54 - And flowering weeds, and fragrant .copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness, Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread. And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand...
Página 6 - You never witness his first apprehension of a thing. His understanding is always at its meridian — you never see the first dawn, the early streaks.
Página 247 - I see them walking in an air of glory, "Whose light doth trample on my days — My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.

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