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Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
Till the scent it gives
Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Or triumphal chaunt,
But an empty vaunt— K thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What shapes of sky or plain?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Never came near thee:
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Than we mortals dream,
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
With some pain is fraught; [thought. Dur sweetest, songs are those that tell of saddest XIX.
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come neai
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
That in books are found,
Teach me half the gladness
Such harmonious madness
I Pear thy kisses, gentle maiden,
My spirit is too deeply laden
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion:
Innocent is the heart's devotion
ODE TO LIBERTY.
Yet freedom, yet, thy banner torn but flying,
A. Glorious people vibrated again
The lightning of the nations: Liberty, From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain,
Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay,
And, in the rapid plumes of song, Clothed itself sublime and strong; As a young eagle soars the morning clouds among, Hovering inverse o'er its accustomed prey;
Till from its station in the heaven of fame The Spirit's whirlwind rapt it, and the ray Of the remotest sphere of living flame Which paves the void, was from behind it flung, As foam from a ship's swiftness; when there came
A voice out of the deep; I will record the same.— n.
The Sun and the serenest Moon sprang forth;
The burning stars of the abyss were hurled Into the depths of heaven. The daedal earth,
That island in the ocean of the world, Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air; But this divinest universe Was yet a chaos and a curse, For thou wert not; but power from worst producing worse, The spirit of the beasts was kindled there,
And of the birds, and of the watery forms, And there was war among them and despair Within them, raging without truce or terms. The bosom of their violated nurse
Groaned, for beasts warred on beasts, and
worms on worms, And men on men; each heart was as a hell of storms.
Man, the imperial shape, then multiplied
His generations under the pavilion
Temple and prison, to many a swarming million
Were as to mountain wolves their ragged caves.
For thou wert not; but o'er the populous solitude