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My head is heavy, my limbs are weary, And it is not life that makes me move.
"Faith" is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see -- But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
Of Nature I shall have enough When I have entered these Entitled to a Bumble bee's Familiarities.
BEHOLD the blessings of a lucky lot! My play is _damned_, and Lady Noel _not_.
Defrauded I a Butterfly -- The lawful Heir -- for Thee --
When May is painting with her colours gay The landscape sketched by April her sweet twin...
Her sovereign People Nature knows as well And is as fond of signifying As if fallible --
God maddens him whom't is his will to lose, And gives the choice of death or phrenzy--choose.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -- True Poems flee --
Of Life to own -- From Life to draw -- But never tough the reservoir --
ÆGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes; She makes her own face, and does not make her rhymes.
Winter under cultivation Is as arable as Spring.
Lad of Athens, faithful be To Thyself, And Mystery -- All the rest is Perjury --
His face was like a snake's--wrinkled and loose And withered--
Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.
The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
In this short Life That only lasts an hour How much -- how little -- is Within our power
Not at Home to Callers Says the Naked Tree -- Bonnet due in April -- Wishing you Good Day --
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying Heaped in undistinguished ruin: Nature is alone undying.
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful --
My life has been the poem I would have writ, But I could not both live and utter it.
Faint as a climate-changing bird that flies All night across the darkness, and at dawn Falls on the threshold of her native land, And can no more, thou camest, O my child, Led upward by the God of ghosts and...
Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, We stumbled on a stationary voice, And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I.
I THERE is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, Omnific. His most holy name is Love. Truth of subliming import! with the which Who feeds and saturates his constant soul, He from his small particular orbit flies With blest outstarting!