The Yale Literary Magazine, Volumen50

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Herrick & Noyes., 1885

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Página 116 - From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never ; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Página 230 - Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long : And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever One grand, sweet song.
Página 115 - Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give — and take!
Página 114 - I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd " I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:'
Página 114 - YESTERDAY This Day's Madness did prepare; TO-MORROW'S Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
Página 115 - Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears: To-morrow.'— Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
Página 22 - But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Página 111 - Heaven's light XLIV The splendours of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it, for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.
Página 253 - I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand,— I'll not hurt a hair of thy head: — Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape; go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee? — This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
Página 102 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

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