Life and Existence

He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear That falls through the clear ether silently.

How many bards gild the lapses of time!

So here hath been dawning Another blue Day: Think wilt thou let it Slip useless away.

So here hath been dawning Another blue Day: Think wilt thou let it Slip useless away.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven’s light forever shines, earth’s shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven’s light forever shines, earth’s shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night’s sweet bird.

He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely.

He lives, he wakes—’tis Death is dead, not he.

He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world’s slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain.

In mockery of monumental stone.

He hath awakened from the dream of life.

The Pilgrim of Eternity [Lord Byron], whose fame Over his living head like heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.

Alas! that all we loved of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal!

Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year.

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!