A new library of poetry and song: . fed towerLove and delight shall with delight devour ! LORD EDWARD THURLOW, BEAUTY. FROM HYMN IN HONOR OF BEAUTY, So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer body doth procure To habit in, and it moie fairly dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight ; For of the soul the body form doth take ; For soul is form, and doth the body make. Therefore wherever that thou dost beholdA comely corpse, with beauty fair this for certain, that the same doth holdA beauteous soul, with fair conditions
A new library of poetry and song: . fed towerLove and delight shall with delight devour ! LORD EDWARD THURLOW, BEAUTY. FROM HYMN IN HONOR OF BEAUTY, So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer body doth procure To habit in, and it moie fairly dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight ; For of the soul the body form doth take ; For soul is form, and doth the body make. Therefore wherever that thou dost beholdA comely corpse, with beauty fair this for certain, that the same doth holdA beauteous soul, with fair conditions to receive the seed of virtue strewed ;For all that fair is, is by nature good ;That is a sign to know the gentle blogd- —\Yet oft it falls that many a gentle mind Dwells in deformed tabernacle drowned. Either by chance, against the course of kind. Or through unaptnesse in the substance found. Which it assumed of some stubborne ground. That will not yield unto her forms direction. But is performeil with some foul A FANCY FROM FONTENELLE. /?£• ntemoircs de Roses on na point vu mourir le Jardinier. The Rose in the garden slipped her bud,And she laughed in the pride of her youthful blood,As she thought of the Gardener standing by —He is old—so old! And he soon must die! \ Ihe full Rose waxed in the warm June air, And she spread and spread till her heart lay bare;.>^ And she laughed once more as she heard his tread— He is older now I He will soon be dead! But the breeze of the morning blew, and found That the leaves of the blown Rose strewed the ground; And he came at noon, that Gardener old. Anil he raked them gently under the mould. And I tvovc the /hin,!^ to a random rhyme :For the Rose is Beauty; the Gardener, Time. Austin Dobson. THE WILD RIDE. / hear iti my heart, I hear in its oiiiiiious pulses. All day, the commotion of sinewy, mane-tossing horses; All nig;ht, from their cells, the importiniatc tramping and neighing. wmi-
Size: 1656px × 1508px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
