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264 psl. - And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
122 psl. - The isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, Will make me sleep again ; and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, I cried to dream again.
127 psl. - Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," Said then the lost Archangel, " this the seat That we must change for Heaven? this mournful gloom For that celestial light ? Be...
170 psl. - It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision.
409 psl. - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted nevermore...
57 psl. - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
207 psl. - Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. So when an angel by divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
138 psl. - To move, but doth if th' other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the .other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run: Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun.
207 psl. - It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: Listen!
63 psl. - And portance in my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.