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accept admit affectation altogether artist attempt beauty become believe better brings Browning called century character civilisation common complete conviction creed criticism culture difficulty doubt ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING English everything existence eyes fact faculty faith fall feeling frequently genius gift give ground hand heart higher highest hold human illustration imagination important inspiration instinct interest keep kind less light living look matter means mind moral mysticism nature never obscure once perfect perhaps period philosophy poem poet poetical poetry possess possible present productions prove question reach reader reason religion religious scepticism scientific seems sense short side sometimes soul speak spiritual stand strong sufficient taken tells theory things thought tion true truth turn write
Page 42 - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Page 7 - But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness, when at last, Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail, The pillared firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
Page 125 - From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of war Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine Threatening the world with high astounding terms And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.
Page 218 - A set o' dull conceited hashes Confuse their brains in college classes ! They gang in stirks, and come out asses, Plain truth to speak; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus By dint o
Page 8 - Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can ; But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it.
Page 218 - That's a' the learning I desire ; Then tho" I drudge thro' dub an' mire At pleugh or cart, My Muse, though namely in attire, May touch the heart.
Page 147 - I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?' So when four years were wholly finished, She threw her royal robes away. 'Make me a cottage in the vale,' she said, 'Where I may mourn and pray.
Page 173 - TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days...