Roczniki Towarzystwa przyjaciół nauk poznańskiego: t. 1-50, Volume 22


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Pįgina 119 - Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.
Pįgina 141 - Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. And when evening descended from Heaven above, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love...
Pįgina 141 - Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all, it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver: For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower ; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the Beautiful!
Pįgina 140 - And each flower and herb on earth's dark breast Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. But none ever trembled and panted with bliss In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, Like a doe in the noontide with love's sweet want, As the companionless sensitive plant.
Pįgina 123 - ... stream. The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone ? With thee I would fly, from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride.
Pįgina 123 - It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds ! Rise, moon!
Pįgina 140 - A SENSITIVE PLANT in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew. And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of night.
Pįgina 123 - Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the rock. Salgar, my love!
Pįgina 134 - Even such a shell the universe itself Is to the ear of Faith; and there are times, I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things; Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation.
Pįgina 126 - Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow; And heavy-loaded groves; and solid floods, That stretch athwart the solitary vast Their. icy horrors to the frozen main; And cheerless towns far-distant, never bless'd, Save when its annual course the caravan Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay *, With news of human kind.

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