Leaves from an Invalid's Journal, and Poems

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George H. Whitney, 1858 - 235 strani
 

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Stran 39 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Stran 93 - ... to the exasperation of the inequality of mankind? From what other cause has it arisen that the discoveries which should have lightened, have added a weight to the curse imposed on Adam? Poetry, and the principle of Self, of which money is the visible incarnation, are the God and Mammon of the world.
Stran 93 - Poetry is indeed something divine. It is at once the centre and circumference of knowledge ; it is that which comprehends all science, and that to which all science must be referred. It is at the same time the root and blossom of all other systems of thought; it is that from which all spring, and that which adorns all; and that which, if blighted, denies the...
Stran 1 - OH ! ask not, hope thou not too much Of sympathy below ; Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bids the sweet fountains flow: Few— and by still conflicting powers Forbidden here to meet — Such ties would make this life of ours Too fair for aught so fleet.
Stran 139 - Ye lust, and have not : ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain : ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not.
Stran 94 - The cultivation of poetry is never more to be desired than at periods when, from an excess of the selfish and calculating principle, the accumulation of the materials of external life exceed the quantity of the power of assimilating them to the internal laws of human nature.
Stran 55 - Think, when our one soul understands The great Word which makes all things new, When earth breaks up and heaven expands, How will the change strike me and you In the house not made with hands?
Stran 76 - But a man who does not know rigour cannot pity either. His very pity will be cowardly, egoistic, — sentimentality, or little better. I know not in the world an affection equal to that of Dante. It is a tenderness, a trembling, longing, pitying love : like the wail of...
Stran 75 - I think it is the mournfulest face that ever was painted from reality ; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting face. There is in it, as foundation of it, the softness, tenderness, gentle affection as of a child ; but all this is as if congealed into sharp contradiction, into abnegation, isolation, proud hopeless pain.
Stran 29 - NO, no, — let me lie Not on a field of battle when I die! Let not the iron tread Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head; Nor let the reeking knife. That I have drawn against a brother's life, Be in my hand when Death Thunders along, and tramples me beneath His heavy squadron's heels, Or gory felloes of his cannon's wheels.

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