Think ye by gazing on each other’s eyes To multiply your lovely selves?
The world is weary of the past, Oh, might it die or rest at last!
The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought.
Nought may endure but Mutability.
Let the blue sky overhead, The green earth on which ye tread, All that must eternal be Witness the solemnity.
I know The past and thence I will essay to glean A warning for the future, so that man May profit by his errors, and derive Experience from his folly; For, when the power of imparting joy Is equal to the will, the human soul Requires no other heaven.
Words are but holy as the deeds they cover.
The intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.
How beautiful is sunset when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
Till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!
No man has a right to disturb the public peace, by personally resisting the execution of a law however bad. He ought to acquiesce, using at the same time the utmost powers of his reason, to promote its repeal.
GOVERNMENT has no rights; it is a delegation from several individuals for the purpose of securing their own. It is therefore just, only so far as it exists by their consent, useful only so far as it operates to their well-being.
Titles are tinsel, power a corrupter, glorya bubble, and excessive wealth a libel on its possessor.
Rough wind, the moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain, Deep caves and dreary main, Wail, for the world’s wrong!
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay you low?
Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found.
Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
Obedience indeed is only the pitiful and cowardly egotism of him who thinks that he can do something better than reason.