Nature and Elements

The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

 

And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapp’d in universal law.

 

For I dipp’d into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain’d a ghastly dew From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue.

 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

 

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet ’tis early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.

 

The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea, So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur.

 

The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea, So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur.

 

“Tirra lirra,” by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.

 

In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon.

 

There hath he lain for ages and will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep, Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

 

Yisterday fair up sprang the flouris, This day thai are all slane with schouris; And fowles in forrest that sang cleir Now walkis with a drery cheir; Full caild are baith thair beddis and bouris.

 

Praise to thee, my Lord, for all thy creatures, Above all Brother Sun Who brings us the day and lends us his light.

 

Drunk we lie down in empty hills, heaven and earth our quilt and pillow. 1

 

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

California is an Italy without its art. There are subjects for the artist, but it is universally true that the only scenery which inspires utterance is that which man feels himself the master of. The mountains of California are so gigantic that they are not favorable to art or poetry. There are good poets in England but none in Switzerland. There the mountains are too high. Art cannot add to nature.

The things of nature do not really belong tous; we should leave them to our children as we have received them.

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,

A noiseless patient spider,

[ Punch line of joke about a scorpion stinging a frogthat is carrying him across a river despite the fact that this would result in both their deaths :] I can’t help it. It’s my nature.

But keep the wolf far hence that’s foe to men,

Geniumque loci primamque deorum

Manibus date lilia plenis .

Dieu! que le son du cor est triste au fond des bois!