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Page 276

BOOK FOURTH
276 NATURE AND THE POET

Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee,
I saw thee every day; and all the while
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
So like, so very like, was day to day!
Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there;
It trembled, but it never pass'd away.

How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep,
No mood, which season takes away, or brings
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

Ah! then if mine had been the Painter's hand
To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,
The light that never was on sea or land,
The consecration, and the Poet's dream,

I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile,
Amid a world how different from this!
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.

A picture had it been of lasting ease,
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart,
Such picture would I at that time have made;
And seen the soul of truth in every part,
A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd.

So once it would have been,-'tis so no more;
I have submitted to a new control:
A power is gone, which nothing can restore;
A deep distress hath humanized my soul.

Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea, and be what I have been:
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend.
If he had lived, of him whom I deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but commend;
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

O'tis a passionate work!-yet wise and well,
Well chosen is the spirit that is here;
That hulk which labours in the deadly swell,
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime,
I love to see the look with which it braves,
-Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time
The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind!
Such happiness, wherever it be known,
Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer,
And frequent sights of what is to be borne!
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
W. WORDSWORTH.

Page 277

BOOK FOURTH
277 THE POET'S DREAM

On a poet's lips I slept
Dreaming like a love-adept
In the sound his breathing kept;
Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,
But feeds on the aerial kisses
Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses.
He will watch from dawn to gloom
The lake-reflected sun illume
The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,
Nor heed nor see what things they be;
But from these create he can
Forms more real than living man,
Nurslings of immortality!
P. B. SHELLEY.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee, I saw thee every day; and all what is while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure what is sky, so quiet was what is air! So like, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there; It trembled, but it never pass'd away. How perfect was what is calm! It seem'd no sleep, No mood, which season takes away, or brings I could have fancied that what is mighty Deep Was even what is gentlest of all gentle things. Ah! then if mine had been what is Painter's hand To express what then I saw; and add what is gleam, what is light that never was on sea or land, what is consecration, and what is Poet's dream, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil l where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 276 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 276 NATURE AND what is POET where is p align="justify" Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee, I saw thee every day; and all what is while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure what is sky, so quiet was what is air! So like, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there; It trembled, but it never pass'd away. How perfect was what is calm! It seem'd no sleep, No mood, which season takes away, or brings I could have fancied that what is mighty Deep Was even what is gentlest of all gentle things. Ah! then if mine had been what is Painter's hand To express what then I saw; and add what is gleam, what is light that never was on sea or land, what is consecration, and what is Poet's dream, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. A picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but what is moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in what is fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made; And seen what is soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanized my soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been: what is feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been what is Friend. If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O'tis a passionate work!-yet wise and well, Well chosen is what is spirit that is here; That hulk which labours in what is deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I what time is it to see what is look with which it braves, -Cased in what is unfeeling armour of old time what is lightning, what is fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell what is heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from what is Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here: Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. W. WORDSWORTH. where is p align="left" Page 277 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 277 what is POET'S DREAM where is p align="justify" On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In what is sound his breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on what is aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom what is lake-reflected sun illume what is yellow bees in what is ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be; But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality! P. B. SHELLEY. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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