When is man strong until he feels alone?
Colombe's Birthday. Act iii.

When the fight begins within himself,

A man's worth something.

Men and Women. Bishop Blougram's Apology.

The sprinkled isles,

Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.

Cleon.

And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us to ignorance again.

Sappho survives, because we sing her songs;
And Eschylus, because we read his plays!
Rafael made a century of sonnets.

Other heights in other lives, God willing.

Ibid.

Ibid.

One Word More. ii.

xii.

God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides, ·
one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her!

Oh their Rafael of the dear Madonnas,

Oh their Dante of the dread Inferno,

Wrote one song-and in my brain I sing it;
Drew one angel-borne, see, on my bosom!

The lie was dead

And damned, and truth stood up instead.

Over

my head his arm he flung

Against the world.

Just my vengeance complete,

The man sprang to his feet,

xvii.

xix.

Count Gismond. xiii.

Stood erect, caught at God's skirts, and prayed!

So, I was afraid!

Oh never star

Was lost here but it rose afar.

ria.

Instans Tyrannus. vii

Waring. ii

Sing, riding's a joy! For me I ride.

The last Ride together. ci

When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?

The Flight of the Duchess. zvi

That low man seeks a little thing to do,

Sees it and does it;

This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
Dies ere he knows it.

That low man goes on adding one to one,

His hundred 's soon hit;

This high man, aiming at a million,

Misses an unit.

That has the world here should he need the next,

Let the world mind him!

This throws himself on God, and unperplexed

Seeking shall find him.

A Grammarian's Funeral.

Lofty designs must close in like effects.

I hear you reproach, "But delay was best,

For their end was a crime." Oh, a crime will do
As well, I reply, to serve for a test

As a virtue golden through and through,
Sufficient to vindicate itself

And prove its worth at a moment's view!

Let a man contend to the uttermost

For his life's set prize, be it what it will!
The counter our lovers staked was lost

As surely as if it were lawful coin;
And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost
Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin,
Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.

Ibid.

The Statue and the Bust.

Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. zzzi.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat.

The Lost Leader. i

-

We shall march prospering, not thro' his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,

not from his lyre;

Deeds will be done, while he boasts his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.

The Lost Leader. ii

They are perfect; how else? - they shall never change: We are faulty; why not? we have time in store.

--

Old Pictures in Florence. xvi.

What's come to perfection perishes.

Things learned on earth we shall practise in heaven;

Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.

Italy, my Italy!

Queen Mary's saying serves for me

(When fortune's malice

Lost her Calais):

"Open my heart, and you will see
Graved inside of it 'Italy.""

xvii.

De Gustibus. it.

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you

should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture.

Home-Thoughts from Abroad. it.

God made all the creatures, and gave them our love and

our fear,

To give sign we and they are his children, one family

here.

Saul. vi.

How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to

employ

All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!

ix.

'Tis not what man does which exalts him, but what man would do.

O woman-country!1 wooed not wed,

Loved all the more by earth's male-lands,
Laid to their hearts instead. By the Fireside.

1 Italy.

xviii.

vi

That great brow

And the spirit-small hand propping it.

By the Fireside. xxiii.

If two lives join, there is oft a scar.

They are one and one, with a shadowy third; One near one is too far.

Only I discern

Infinite passion, and the pain of finite hearts that yearn.

Two in the Campagna, zii.

Round and round, like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone on the poet's pages.

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.

Women and Roses.

And absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds

Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike

On his senses alike,

And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you,
And did you speak to him again?

How strange it seems, and new!

After.

Memorabilia. i

He who did well in war just earns the right
To begin doing well in peace.

Luria. Act ii.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift,

Is quick and transient, comes, and lo! is gone,
While Northern thought is slow and durable.

A people is but the attempt of many
To rise to the completer life of one;
And those who live as models for the mass
Are singly of more value than they all.

Act

Ibid.

I count life just a stuff

To try the soul's strength on.

Was there nought better than to enjoy?

In a Balcony.

No feat which, done, would make time break,
And let us pent-up creatures through

Into eternity, our due?

No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?

Dis Aliter Visum; or, Le Byron de nos Jours.

There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before;

The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good

more;

On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round. Abt Vogler. ix.

Then welcome each rebuff

That turns earth's smoothness rough,

Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold cheap the strain;

Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the

throe!

What I aspired to be,

And was not, comforts me.

Rabbi Ben Ezra.

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
For life, with all it yields of joy and woe,
And hope and fear (believe the aged friend),
Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love,
How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.

Ibid.

Ibid.

A Death in the Desert

The body sprang

At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,-no!

Ibid.

What? Was man made a wheel-work to wind up,
And be discharged, and straight wound up anew?
No! grown, his growth lasts; taught, he ne'er forgets:
May learn a thousand things, not twice the same.

Ibid