On the Poet Objective and Subjective: On the Latter's Aim; on Shelley as Man and Poet, Êèǹ·Õè 1,©ºÑº·Õè 1

»¡Ë¹éÒ
Browning society, 1881 - 20 ˹éÒ

¨Ò¡´éÒ¹ã¹Ë¹Ñ§Ê×Í

©ºÑºÍ×è¹æ - ´Ù·Ñé§ËÁ´

¤ÓáÅÐÇÅÕ·Õ辺ºèÍÂ

º·¤ÇÒÁ·Õèà»ç¹·Õè¹ÔÂÁ

˹éÒ 116 - All we have willed, or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
˹éÒ 35 - 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 splendour, soon or late, Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one day ! You understand me ? I have said enough ? Fest.
˹éÒ 99 - But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued : And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever: it may be a sound — A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound...
˹éÒ 89 - But I need, now as then, Thee, God, who mouldest men ; And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I — to the wheel of life With shapes and colours rife, Bound dizzily — mistake my end, to slake thy thirst: So, take and use thy work : Amend what flaws may lurk, What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
˹éÒ 103 - No spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock, The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.
˹éÒ 80 - I've made her eyes all right and blue, Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash, And then add soul and heighten them threefold? Or say there's beauty with no soul at all (I never saw it - put the case the same - ) If you get simple beauty and nought else, You get about the best thing God invents, That's somewhat. And you'll find the soul you have missed. Within yourself when you return Him thanks, 'Rub all out!
˹éÒ 73 - My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched ; That, after Last, returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched ; That what began best, can't end worst, Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.
˹éÒ 103 - There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.

ºÃóҹءÃÁ