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His modesty amounts to deformity.

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Modesty

A show of modesty,
From one brave to pave a way...
Is someone who has strength.
With a purpose known meant.

Experiencing those obstacles,
And having them not show...
Leaves very little to say,
By those who live their lives delayed.

Since a modesty seems to be freed,
When pains once had are over.
And unconditional,
Is the love.

And a modesty seems to be freed,
When one like this recovers knowing...
Life has its ups,
And its downs.
And...
Showing modesty,
Can be worn...
Without a frown.

A show of modesty,
From one brave to pave a way...
Is someone who has strength.
With a purpose known meant.
Showing modesty,
Is a gift that's heaven sent.

One knowing modesty,
Doesn't carry that they've had regrets.

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William Butler Yeats

The Phases Of The Moon

An old man cocked his car upon a bridge;
He and his friend, their faces to the South,
Had trod the uneven road. Their hoots were soiled,
Their Connemara cloth worn out of shape;
They had kept a steady pace as though their beds,
Despite a dwindling and late-risen moon,
Were distant still. An old man cocked his ear.
Aherne. What made that Sound?
Robartes. A rat or water-hen
Splashed, or an otter slid into the stream.
We are on the bridge; that shadow is the tower,
And the light proves that he is reading still.
He has found, after the manner of his kind,
Mere images; chosen this place to live in
Because, it may be, of the candle-light
From the far tower where Milton's Platonist
Sat late, or Shelley's visionary prince:
The lonely light that Samuel Palmer engraved,
An image of mysterious wisdom won by toil;
And now he seeks in book or manuscript
What he shall never find.
Ahernc. Why should not you
Who know it all ring at his door, and speak
Just truth enough to show that his whole life
Will scarcely find for him a broken crust
Of all those truths that are your daily bread;
And when you have spoken take the roads again?
Robartes. He wrote of me in that extravagant style
He had learnt from pater, and to round his tale
Said I was dead; and dead I choose to be.
Aherne. Sing me the changes of the moon once more;
True song, though speech: 'mine author sung it me.'
Robartes. Twenty-and-eight the phases of the moon,
The full and the moon's dark and all the crescents,
Twenty-and-eight, and yet but six-and-twenty
The cradles that a man must needs be rocked in:
For there's no human life at the full or the dark.
From the first crescent to the half, the dream
But summons to adventure and the man
Is always happy like a bird or a beast;
But while the moon is rounding towards the full
He follows whatever whim's most difficult
Among whims not impossible, and though scarred.
As with the cat-o'-nine-tails of the mind,
His body moulded from within his body
Grows comelier. Eleven pass, and then
Athene takes Achilles by the hair,
Hector is in the dust, Nietzsche is born,
Because the hero's crescent is the twelfth.
And yet, twice born, twice buried, grow he must,

[...] Read more

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The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The First Book

Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couch
The delegated Maiden lay: with toil
Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed
Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,
For busy Phantasy, in other scenes
Awakened. Whether that superior powers,
By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,
Instructing so the passive faculty;
Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog,
Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world,
And all things 'are' that 'seem'.

Along a moor,
Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate,
She roam'd a wanderer thro' the cheerless night.
Far thro' the silence of the unbroken plain
The bittern's boom was heard, hoarse, heavy, deep,
It made most fitting music to the scene.
Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,
Swept shadowing; thro' their broken folds the moon
Struggled sometimes with transitory ray,
And made the moving darkness visible.
And now arrived beside a fenny lake
She stands: amid its stagnate waters, hoarse
The long sedge rustled to the gales of night.
An age-worn bark receives the Maid, impell'd
By powers unseen; then did the moon display
Where thro' the crazy vessel's yawning side
The muddy wave oozed in: a female guides,
And spreads the sail before the wind, that moan'd
As melancholy mournful to her ear,
As ever by the dungeon'd wretch was heard
Howling at evening round the embattled towers
Of that hell-house of France, ere yet sublime
The almighty people from their tyrant's hand
Dash'd down the iron rod.
Intent the Maid
Gazed on the pilot's form, and as she gazed
Shiver'd, for wan her face was, and her eyes
Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep,
Channell'd by tears; a few grey locks hung down
Beneath her hood: then thro' the Maiden's veins
Chill crept the blood, for, as the night-breeze pass'd,
Lifting her tattcr'd mantle, coil'd around
She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.

The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by,
And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,
Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid
Look'd to the shore, and now upon the bank

[...] Read more

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Everything Counts

The handshake
Seals a contract
From the contract
There's no turning back
The turning point
Of a career
In Korea being insincere
The holiday
Was fun packed
The contract:
Still intact
The grabbing hands
Grab all they can
All for themselves
After all
It's a competitive world
Everything counts in large amounts
The graph
On the wall
Tells the story
Of it all
Picture it now
See just how
The lies and deceit gained a little more power
Confidence taken in
By a sun tan
And a grin
The grabbing hands
Grab all they can
All for themselves
After all
It's a competitive world
Everything counts in large amounts
The grabbing hands
Grab all they can
Everything counts in large amounts

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Remedy

I saw fireworks from the freeway and behind closed eyes I cannot make them go away
Cause you were born on the fourth of july, freedom ring
now something on the surface it stings
that something on the surface it kind of makes me nervous who says that you deserve this
and what kind of guy would serve this? We will cure this dirty old disease
well if you've gots the poison I've gots the remedy
the remedy is the experience. This is a dangerous liaison
I says the comedy is that its serious. This is a strange enough new play on words
I says the tragedy is how youre gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends when it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away, hey, oh oh oh
I wont worry my life away, hey, oh oh oh
Well I heard two men talking on the radio in a cross fire kind of new reality show
Uncovering the ways to plan the next big attack
well they were counting down the days to stab the brother in the be right back after this
the unavoidable kiss, where the minty fresh death breath is sure to outlast this catastrophy
dance with me, cause if you've gots the poison, I've gots the remedy
the remedy is the experience. This is a dangerous liaison
I says the comedy is that its serious. This is a strange enough new play on words
I says the tragedy is how youre gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends when it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away, hey, oh oh oh
I wont worry my life away, hey oh oh oh
When I fall in love I take my time
There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind
You can turn off the sun but I'm still gonna shine and I'll tell you why
Because
the remedy is the experience. This is a dangerous liaison
I says the comedy is that its serious. This is a strange enough new play on words
I says the tragedy is how you're gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends when it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away, hey oh oh oh
I wont worry my life away, hey oh oh oh
I wont and I wont and I wont [etc.]

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The Remedy

I saw fireworks from the freeway and behind closed eyes I cannot make them go away
Cause you were born on the fourth of july, freedom ring
Now something on the surface it stings
That something on the surface it kind of makes me nervous who says that you deserve this
And what kind of God would serve this? we will cure this dirty old disease
If youve got the poison Ive got the remedy
The remedy is the experience. it is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that its serious. which is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how youre gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends because it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away.
I wont worry my life away.
I heard two men talking on the radio in a cross fire kind of new reality show
Uncovering the ways to plan the next big attack
They were counting down the days to stab the brother in the be right back after this
The unavoidable kiss, where the minty fresh death breath is sure to outlast his catastrophy
Dance with me, because if youve got the poison, Ive got the remedy
The remedy is the experience. it is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that its serious. which is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how youre gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends because it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away.
I wont worry my life away.
When I fall in love I take my time
Theres no need to hurry when Im making up my mind
You can turn off the sun but Im still gonna shine and Ill tell you why
Because
The remedy is the experience. it is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that its serious. which is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how youre gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends because it all amounts to nothing in the end.
I wont worry my life away.
I wont worry my life away.
I wont and I wont and I wont [etc.]

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Clarence Darrow

Physical deformity, calls forth our charity. But the infinite misfortune of moral deformity calls forth nothing but hatred and vengeance.

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Only funny

It is not only funny
But very astonishing and clumsy
We all know about the holiness of boobs
Holy mention too can be found in books

Women are much more praiseworthy
Some may wear the ugliness gifted from almighty
The deformity and unnatural growth is not in our hands
The body as such will be submerged and melted at the end

All nourishment and food is catered from that part
Our life gets shape and growth from the very start
Let us adore and praise the ladies for commendable job
We should not denigrate their honor and rob

It may be shown as world record
Many may take it as mere reference for looking forward
Any good looking natural piece deserves to be praised
But wrong way of projection should also be outrightly condemned

It must be taken as deformity in body
It is not done for records by somebody
It is really annoying for its wrong way of presentation
Otherwise it is not even worth for its mention

The opinion and perception may vary
The impression and meaning may also differently carry
Yet the basic concept of giving honor to ladies need not be compromised
Ladies deserve good comments and treatment as consciously promised

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The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Third

What wonder therefore, since the indearing ties
Of passion link the universal kind
Of man so close, what wonder if to search
This common nature through the various change
Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame
Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind
With unresisted charms? The spacious west,
And all the teeming regions of the south
Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight
Of knowledge, half so tempting or so fair,
As man to man. Nor only where the smiles
Of love invite; nor only where the applause
Of cordial honour turns the attentive eye
On virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course
Of things external acts in different ways
On human apprehensions, as the hand
Of nature temper'd to a different frame.
Peculiar minds; so haply where the powers
Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge
The images of things, but paint in all
Their genuine hues, the features which they wore
In nature; there opinion will be true,
And action right. For action treads the path
In which opinion says he follows good,
Or flies from evil; and opinion gives
Report of good or evil, as the scene
Was drawn by fancy, lovely or deform'd:
Thus her report can never there be true
Where fancy cheats the intellectual eye,
With glaring colours and distorted lines.
Is there a man, who at the sound of death
Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjur'd up,
And black before him; nought but death-bed groans
And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink
Of light and being, down the gloomy air,
An unknown depth? Alas! in such a mind,
If no bright forms of excellence attend
The image of his country; nor the pomp
Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice
Of justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes
The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame;
Will not opinion tell him, that to die,
Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill
Than to betray his country? And in act
Will he not chuse to be a wretch and live?
Here vice begins then. From the inchanting cup
Which fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst
Of youth oft swallows a Circæan draught,
That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye
Of reason, till no longer he discerns,

[...] Read more

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A Deformity

I call it a deformity, I call it the spoken word,
Many long to see the face of rich men,
The diamonds are a facet of their everyday lives,
For jewels abstain from the many scratches and bites.
A standard face is applied, wandering is a lie,
For the water carried by the dozens of helpers weeps.
Strange eyebrows are pages of material,
In a way we call a religion or faith.
It is not me who sings tonight, justice sings today,
Forming a deformity so peaceful and delightful and delicious.
This may cause the mind to wince and swallow,
But then noses and mouths shall be speaking one day.

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Fidelity to conscience is inconsistent with retiring modesty. If it be so, let the modesty succumb. It can be only a false modesty which can be thus endangered.

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William Blake

Visions of the Daughters of Albion

The Eye sees more than the heart knows.

The Argument

I loved Theotormon
And I was not ashamed
I trembled in my virgin fears
And I hid in Leutha's Vale!

I plucked Leutha's flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.

Visions

Enslav'd, the Daughters of Albion weep; a trembling lamentation
Upon their mountains; in their valleys, sighs towards America.
For the soft soul of America, Oothoon wanderd in woe,
Along the vales of Leutha seeking flowers to comfort her;
And thus she spoke to the bright Marygold of Leutha's vale

Art thou a flower! art though a nymph! I see thee now a flower;
Now a nymph! I dare not pluck thee from thy dewy bed!

The Golden nymph replied; pluck thou my flower Oothoon the mild
Another flower shall spring. because the soul of sweet delight
Can never pass away, she ceas'd & closed her golden shrine.

Then Oothoon pluck'd the flower saying, I pluck thee from thy bed
Sweet flower. and put thee here to glow between my breasts
And thus I turn to where my whole soul seeks.

Over the waves she went in wing'd exulting swift delight;
And over Theotormon's reign, took her impetuous course.

Bromion rent her with his thunders. on his stormy bed
Lay the faint maid, and soon her woes apalld his thunders hoarse

Bromion spoke. behold this harlot here on Bromions bed.
And let the jealous dolphins sport around the lovely maid:
Thy soft American plains are mine, and mine thy north & south:
Stampt with my signet are the swarthy children of the sun;
They are obedient, they resist not, they obey the scourge:
Their daughters worship terrors and obey the violent:
Now thou maist marry Bromions harlot, and protect the child
Of Bromions rage, that Oothoon shall put forth in nine moons time
Then storms rent Theotormons limbs; he rolld his waves around.
And folded his black jealous waters round the adulterate pair
Bound back to back in Bromions caves terror & meekness dwell

[...] Read more

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Dishonest Modesty

(carly simon/zach wiesner)
You come on strong telling everyone
About your latest role
How you saved the movie, stole the show
Well everybody knows
And if you have no time for all your offers
Youll see that I get called
And if you have no time for all your men
Youll see that I get balled
Well I dont expect humility
But what about some good old fashioned dishonest modesty
You say that you can understudy
All the other parts
You can write a song that will make us cry
That touches all our hearts
And you can house and garden
Vogue and glamour, mademoiselle
But I know you can bitch and screw
And penthouse just aswell
I dont expect humility
But what about some good old dishonest modesty
You try to be unique
But somehow somethings wrong
cause your flower childish vision of life
Cannot last too long
Youre over thrity and underweight
Though you call yourself petite
And you hang around with all the clowns
You think theyre so elite
Well I dont expect humility
But what about some good old fashioned dishonest modesty

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Byron

Canto the Fifteenth

I
Ah! -- What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery,
Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!" -- a yawn, or "Pooh!"
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

II
But, more or less, the whole's a syncopé
Or a singultus -- emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean, --
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.

III
But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.

IV
Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.

V
And as for love -- O love! -- We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

[...] Read more

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To The Right Hon. Mr. Dodington

Long, Dodington, in debt, I long have sought
To ease the burden of my graceful thought:
And now a poet's gratitude you see:
Grant him two favours, and he'll ask for three:
For whose the present glory, or the gain?
You give protection, I a worthless strain.
You love and feel the poet's sacred flame,
And know the basis of a solid fame;
Though prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
You read with all the malice of a friend;
Nor favour my attempts that way alone,
But, more to raise my verse, conceal your own.
An ill-tim'd modesty! turn ages o'er,
When wanted Britain bright examples more?
Her learning, and her genius too, decays;
And dark and cold are her declining days;
As if men now were of another cast,
They meanly live on alms of ages past,
Men still are men; and they who boldly dare,
Shall triumph o'er the sons of cold despair;
Or, if they fail, they justly still take place
Of such who run in debt for their disgrace;
Who borrow much, then fairly make it known,
And damn it with improvements of their own.
We bring some new materials, and what's old
New cast with care, and in no borrow'd mould;
Late times the verse may read, if these refuse;
And from sour critics vindicate the Muse.
'Your work is long', the critics cry. 'Tis true,
And lengthens still, to take in fools like you:
Shorten my labour, if its length you blame:
For, grow but wise, you rob me of my game;
As haunted hags, who, while the dogs pursue,
Renounce their four legs, and start up on two.

Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile
That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile,
Will I enjoy (dread feast!) the critic's rage,
And with the fell destroyer feed my page.
For what ambitious fools are more to blame,
Than those who thunder in the critic's name?
Good authors damn'd, have their revenge in this,
To see what wretches gain the praise they miss.

Balbutius, muffled in his sable cloak,
Like an old Druid from his hollow oak,
As ravens solemn, and as boding, cries,
'Ten thousand worlds for the three unities!'
Ye doctors sage, who through Parnassus teach,
Or quit the tub, or practise what you preach.

[...] Read more

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Byron

Don Juan: Canto The Fifteenth

Ah!--What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An 'Oh!' or 'Ah!' of joy or misery,
Or a 'Ha! ha!' or 'Bah!'-- a yawn, or 'Pooh!'
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

But, more or less, the whole's a syncope
Or a singultus - emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean,--
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.

But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.

Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.

And as for love--O love!--We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

The Lady Adeline, right honourable;
And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so;
For few of the soft sex are very stable
In their resolves--alas! that I should say so!
They differ as wine differs from its label,

[...] Read more

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A silence is an answer

I was lost with confusion
There was no guilt for admission
Yet I felt it is modesty violation
Though it has no direct relation

The woman has something to protect
Her modesty and moments of pride
So much at stake and more to hide
Less to reveal and more to confide

There is constant clash in mind
What can be first marriage counter be called?
Is it submission, sell out or surrender?
How can stranger in life be called an offender?

Anybody may be baffled with such questions?
Nothing can console with satisfactory answer or solutions?
It is clash of thoughts and not of any substance
Probably it can be brushed aside as wrong stance

There is sanctity behind marriage
It is considered as lovely carriage
It is matter of no compulsion but choice
There is no attempt to violate modesty or supper voice

If one considers it as brutal act of strength? |
It must be weighed in favor or against at length
There is no other go as safety cover has to be sought
It may be called futile exercise and needlessly fought

It may be puzzling newly wed couple
Life may not be looked as easy and simple
Yet there is full scope to know and understand
Both can interact and come closer as friend

The silence may break ice with clear aim to unite
All possible efforts will be made to make memorable night
The lamps may be dimly lit to make it really bright
Secret vow to whisper and not lose any sight

The fear and anxiety may still cause some delay
There will be no one to suggest any acceptable way
It will be male dominated act yet gracious gesture
Nice to feel about and looking eagerly for future



It is great moment of joy
Both to loose in game and yet to enjoy
Not to compromise on the question of sanity

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It's Like An Odyssey

Your modesty has started,
And it's something I now feel...
Comes from your heart.
Deep it is and it is real.
I hope it never will depart.

Congratulations.
You should be elated.
Congratulations.
You should celebrate.
Congratualtions,
Not everyone can state it...
That they have now arrived,
with this feeling felt inside.

It's like an odyssey!
when a modesty gets started.
Just like an odyssey...
One takes to never leave.
It's like an odyssey.
Your modesty.

Congratulations.
You should be elated.
And...
Congratulations.
You should celebrate this.
And...
Congratualtions,
Not everyone can state...
That they have now arrived,
with this feeling felt inside.

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Metamorphoses: Book The Tenth

THENCE, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace,
Hymen departs, thro' air's unmeasur'd space;
By Orpheus call'd, the nuptial Pow'r attends,
But with ill-omen'd augury descends;
Nor chearful look'd the God, nor prosp'rous spoke,
Nor blaz'd his torch, but wept in hissing smoke.
In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake,
No rapid motion can its flames awake.
The Story of With dread these inauspicious signs were view'd,
Orpheus And soon a more disastrous end ensu'd;
and Eurydice For as the bride, amid the Naiad train,
Ran joyful, sporting o'er the flow'ry plain,
A venom'd viper bit her as she pass'd;
Instant she fell, and sudden breath'd her last.
When long his loss the Thracian had deplor'd,
Not by superior Pow'rs to be restor'd;
Inflam'd by love, and urg'd by deep despair,
He leaves the realms of light, and upper air;
Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road,
And tempt the shades in their obscure abode;
Thro' gliding spectres of th' interr'd to go,
And phantom people of the world below:
Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns
O'er ghosts, and Hell's uncomfortable plains.
Arriv'd, he, tuning to his voice his strings,
Thus to the king and queen of shadows sings.
Ye Pow'rs, who under Earth your realms extend,
To whom all mortals must one day descend;
If here 'tis granted sacred truth to tell:
I come not curious to explore your Hell;
Nor come to boast (by vain ambition fir'd)
How Cerberus at my approach retir'd.
My wife alone I seek; for her lov'd sake
These terrors I support, this journey take.
She, luckless wandring, or by fate mis-led,
Chanc'd on a lurking viper's crest to tread;
The vengeful beast, enflam'd with fury, starts,
And thro' her heel his deathful venom darts.
Thus was she snatch'd untimely to her tomb;
Her growing years cut short, and springing bloom.
Long I my loss endeavour'd to sustain,
And strongly strove, but strove, alas, in vain:
At length I yielded, won by mighty love;
Well known is that omnipotence above!
But here, I doubt, his unfelt influence fails;
And yet a hope within my heart prevails.
That here, ev'n here, he has been known of old;
At least if truth be by tradition told;
If fame of former rapes belief may find,
You both by love, and love alone, were join'd.

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Queen Mab: Part IX.

'O happy Earth, reality of Heaven!
To which those restless souls that ceaselessly
Throng through the human universe, aspire!
Thou consummation of all mortal hope!
Thou glorious prize of blindly working will,
Whose rays, diffused throughout all space and time,
Verge to one point and blend forever there!
Of purest spirits thou pure dwelling-place
Where care and sorrow, impotence and crime,
Languor, disease and ignorance dare not come!
O happy Earth, reality of Heaven!

'Genius has seen thee in her passionate dreams;
And dim forebodings of thy loveliness,
Haunting the human heart, have there entwined
Those rooted hopes of some sweet place of bliss,
Where friends and lovers meet to part no more.
Thou art the end of all desire and will,
The product of all action; and the souls,
That by the paths of an aspiring change
Have reached thy haven of perpetual peace,
There rest from the eternity of toil
That framed the fabric of thy perfectness.

'Even Time, the conqueror, fled thee in his fear;
That hoary giant, who in lonely pride
So long had ruled the world that nations fell
Beneath his silent footstep. Pyramids,
That for millenniums had withstood the tide
Of human things, his storm-breath drove in sand
Across that desert where their stones survived
The name of him whose pride had heaped them there.
Yon monarch, in his solitary pomp,
Was but the mushroom of a summer day,
That his light-wingèd footstep pressed to dust;
Time was the king of earth; all things gave way
Before him but the fixed and virtuous will,
The sacred sympathies of soul and sense,
That mocked his fury and prepared his fall.

'Yet slow and gradual dawned the morn of love;
Long lay the clouds of darkness o'er the scene,
Till from its native heaven they rolled away:
First, crime triumphant o'er all hope careered
Unblushing, undisguising, bold and strong,
Whilst falsehood, tricked in virtue's attributes,
Long sanctified all deeds of vice and woe,
Till, done by her own venomous sting to death,
She left the moral world without a law,
No longer fettering passion's fearless wing,

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