And boyhood is a summer sun Whose waning is the dreariest one -- For all we live to know is known, And all we seek to keep hath flown - Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall With the noon-day beauty - which is all.
Father, I firmly do believe - I know - for Death, who comes for me From regions of the blest afar, Where there is nothing to deceive, Hath left his iron gate ajar, And rays of truth you cannot see Are flashing thro' Eternity -- I do believe that Eblis hath A snare in ev'ry human path - Else how, when in the holy grove I wandered of the idol, Love, Who daily scents his snowy wings With incense of burnt offerings From the most unpolluted things, Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven Above with trelliced rays from Heaven No mote may shun - no tiniest fly The light'ning of his eagle eye - How was it that Ambition crept, Unseen, amid the revels there, Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt In the tangles of Love's very hair?
We might take the edge of our hunger off ere we seek the prince, for though his tables are gay with damask and silver he is no trencherman himself, and hath no sympathy for those who are his betters.
From the shields, there is not one of these vessels which hath not knight or baron aboard.
He hath by rote the name of every knight of France or of England; and all the tree of his family, with his kinships, coat-armor, marriages, augmentations, abatements, and I know not what beside.
The prince hath other things to think upon," quoth Sir William de Pakington; "but if you be a Mackworth you must be a Mackworth of Normanton, and indeed I see now that your coat is sable and ermine.
Away to your lodgings, and come not nigh the prince until the armorer hath placed the true charge upon your shield.
As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.
This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that GOD IS DEAD
The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who maketh everything small.
Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no end to their raillery.