Emotions and Feelings

The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow.

He hath awakened from the dream of life.

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.

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.

I weep for Adonais [John Keats] 4 —he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness, From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number— Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you— Ye are many—they are few.

He tossed them human hearts to chew.

I met Murder on the way— He had a mask like Castlereagh. 3

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright.

Hell is a city much like London— A populous and smoky city.

Men of England, wherefore plow For the lords who lay ye low?

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

That thus enchains us to permitted ill— We might be otherwise—we might be all We dream of happy, high majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind?

That thus enchains us to permitted ill— We might be otherwise—we might be all We dream of happy, high majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind?

And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.

To know nor faith, nor love nor law; to be Omnipotent but friendless is to reign.

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me.