[From Cymbeline.] FEAR NO MORE. FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done. Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, Fear no more the frown o' the great, To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must, All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash, Thou hast finished joy and moan. All lovers young, all lovers must, Consign to thee, and come to dust, [From Venus and Adonis.] THE HORSE OF ADONIS. LOOK, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportioned steed, His art with Nature's workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed: So did this horse excel a common one In shape, in courage, color, pace and bone. Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostrils wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometimes he scuds far off, and then he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather, To bid the wind a base he now pre pares And whe'r he run, or fly, they know not whether. For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, which wave like feathered wings. LOVE, THE RETRIEVER OF PAST They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it, One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the heavens reject not: The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow? LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. THE fountains mingle with the river, See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? TO A SKYLARK. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! [art. In profuse strains of unpremeditated Higher still and higher, From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there All the earth and air With thy voice is loud. As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chant, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt, Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, A thing wherein we feel there is some The world should listen then, as I am hidden want. listening now. TELL me, thou star, whose wings of I sift the snow on the mountains be light Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Will thy pinions close now? Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way, In what depth of night or day Seekest thou repose now? Weary wind, who wanderest Like the world's rejected guest, Hast thou still some secret nest On the tree or billow? low, |