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admirable artist beauty Beethoven better bring brother called cause character child clear common critic deep divine drama earth effect excellent existence expression eyes fail fair faith feel felt flow flowers force genius give given grace greatest hand Handel happy hear heart heaven higher hope hour human idea interest Italy kind known least leaves less light lives look Lord master means mind nature never noble object once passages passed passion perfect person picture piece play pleasure poems poet poetic poetry present Prince pure received rich seek seems seen sense soul speak spirit sweet sympathy things thou thought tion touch true truth turn verse whole wish write written
Page 71 - What thou art we know not: What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Page 87 - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear O Lady!
Page 33 - Fra Pandolf" by design: for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I...
Page 74 - Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart.
Page 72 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 88 - To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Page 75 - The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a Tropic sky, Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood.
Page 88 - And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars ; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen : Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel how beautiful they are ! in.