But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, The shadow of the dome of pleasure Where was heard the mingled measure It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And drunk the milk of Paradise. THE EPOCH ENDS, THE WORLD IS STILL. From BACCHANALIA; OR, THE NEW AGE. Matthew Arnold. THE epoch ends, the world is still. The famous orators have shone, The puissant crown'd, the weak laid low. Now strifes are hush'd, our ears doth meet, Ascending pure, the bell-like fame Of this or that down-trodden name In the hot press of the noon-day. O'er that wide plain, now wrapt in gloom, Like stars over the bounding hill. The epoch ends, the world is still. MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. Edward Dyer. My minde to me a kingdome is; That God or Nature hath assignde: Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice: Loe! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plentie surfets oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall: I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toile, and keep with feare: Such cares my mind could never beare. No princely pompe, nor welthie store, No shape to winne a lover's eye; Some have too much, yet still they crave, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; I laugh not at another's losse, I grudge not at another's gaine; I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Croesus' welth a straw; For care, I care not what it is; I feare not fortune's fatall law: My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seeke for more; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate; The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath; Extreames are counted worst of all: The golden meane betwixt them both, Doth surest sit, and fears no fall: This is my choyce, for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde. My welth is health, and perfect ease; I never seeke by brybes to please, |