Rhyme? and reason? . Ht; FALTEHED GIFTS MAY FASS AWAY. 94 THE THREE VOICES. The world is but a Thought, said he: The vast unfathomable seaIs but a Notion—unto me. And darkly fell her answer dread Upon his unresisting head, Like half a hundredweight of lead. 11 The Good and Great must ever shunThat reckless and abandoned oneWho stoops to perpetrate a pun. The man that smokes—that reads the Times-That goes to Christmas Pantomimes—Is capable of any crimes ! He felt it was his turn to speak, And, with a shamed and crimson cheek, Moaned This is harder than Bezique ! But when she asked him Wherefore
Rhyme? and reason? . Ht; FALTEHED GIFTS MAY FASS AWAY. 94 THE THREE VOICES. The world is but a Thought, said he: The vast unfathomable seaIs but a Notion—unto me. And darkly fell her answer dread Upon his unresisting head, Like half a hundredweight of lead. 11 The Good and Great must ever shunThat reckless and abandoned oneWho stoops to perpetrate a pun. The man that smokes—that reads the Times-That goes to Christmas Pantomimes—Is capable of any crimes ! He felt it was his turn to speak, And, with a shamed and crimson cheek, Moaned This is harder than Bezique ! But when she asked him Wherefore so? He felt his very whiskers glow, And frankly owned •! do not THIS 13 HARDER THAN BEZ1QUE ! gb THE THREE VOICES. While, like broad waves of golden grain,Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane,His colour came and went again. Pitying his obvious distress, Yet with a tinge of bitterness, She said The More exceeds the Less. A truth of such undoubted weight,He urged, and so extreme in date,It were superfluous to state. Roused into sudden passion, she In tone of cold malignity : To others, yea: but not to thee. But when she saw him quail and quake,And when he urged For pitys sake !!Once more in gentle tone she spake. Thought in the mind doth still abide:That is by Intellect supplied,And within that Idea doth hide : THE FIRST VOICE. 97 And he, that yearns the truth to know,Still further inwardly may go,And find Idea from Notion flow : And thus the chain, that sages sought, Is to a glorious circle wrought, For Notion hath its source in Thought. So passed they on with even pace :Yet gradually one might traceA shadow growing on his face.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1883
