Poems: Paracelsus

»¡Ë¹éÒ
Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1850

¨Ò¡´éÒ¹ã¹Ë¹Ñ§Ê×Í

¤ÓáÅÐÇÅÕ·Õ辺ºèÍÂ

º·¤ÇÒÁ·Õèà»ç¹·Õè¹ÔÂÁ

˹éÒ 148 - ... in man's self arise August anticipations, symbols, types Of a dim splendour ever on before In that eternal circle life pursues. / For men begin to pass their nature's bound, And find new hopes and cares which fast supplant Their proper joys and griefs ; they grow too great For narrow creeds of right and wrong, which fade Before the unmeasured thirst for good : while peace Rises within them ever more and more. Such men are even now upon the earth, Serene amid the half-formed creatures round Who...
˹éÒ 165 - DAY! Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last : Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim Where spurting and suppressed it lay. For not a froth-flake touched the rim Of yonder gap in the solid gray Of the eastern cloud, an hour away ; But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed...
˹éÒ 53 - Love me henceforth, Aprile, while I learn To love ; and, merciful God, forgive us both ! We wake at length from weary dreams ; but both Have slept in fairy-land : though dark and drear Appears the world before us, we no less Wake with our wrists and ancles jewelled still. I, too, have sought to KNOW as thou to LOVE — Excluding love as thou refusedst knowledge. Still thou hast beauty and I, power. We wake : What penance canst devise for both of us ? Apr.
˹éÒ 21 - I go to prove my soul ! I see my way as birds their trackless way — I shall arrive ! what time, what circuit first, I ask not : but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet, or stifling snow, In some time — his good time — I shall arrive : He guides me and the bird. In his good time i Mich.
˹éÒ 81 - I cannot feed on beauty for the sake Of beauty only, nor can drink in balm From lovely objects for their loveliness ; My nature cannot lose her first imprint ; I...
˹éÒ 27 - Blinds it, and makes all error : and ' to know ' Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light Supposed to be without.
˹éÒ 27 - Truth is within ourselves ; it takes no rise From outward things, whate'er you may believe : There is an inmost centre in us all, Where truth abides in fulness...
˹éÒ 152 - If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, It is but for a time ; I press God's lamp Close to my breast ; its splendor, soon or late, Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one day.
˹éÒ 151 - Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, But dream of him, and guess where he may be, And do their best to climb and get to him.
˹éÒ 112 - But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day, And land, though but a rock, drew nigh...

ºÃóҹءÃÁ