— arhiva de citate
Fragmente ridicate din carte și așezate în ordinea apariției lor — sediment de gândire, nu colecție.
6 fragmente · marginalia indică pagina
- 001
THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE ‘Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.’ So sung a little clod of clay, Trodden with the cattle’s feet, But a pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet: ‘Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another’s loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.
- 002
Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance, And drink, and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing
- 003
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
- 004
Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know. ‘And, father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door.’ The Priest sat by and heard the child; In trembling zeal he seized his hair, He led him by his little coat, And all admired his priestly care. And standing on the altar high, ‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he: ‘One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy mystery.’ The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain: They stripped him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain, And burned him in a holy place Where many had been burned before; The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albion’s shore?
- 005
A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secrecy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.
- 006
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD Youth of delight! come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teazing. Folly is an endless maze; Tangled roots perplex her ways; How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead; And feel—they know not what but care; And wish to lead others, when they should be led.