The Poetical Works of Edward Young, Band 1

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Little, Brown, 1854
 

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Seite lxv - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Seite liv - A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost ! at home a stranger. Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own : How reason reels ! О what a miracle to man is man.
Seite lvi - This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule. Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death, Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us, embryos of existence, free.
Seite lviii - Death ! great proprietor of all ! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars; The sun himself by thy permission shines; And one day thou shalt pluck him from his sphere.
Seite liv - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder HE, who made him such ! Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures marvelously mixt, Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity...
Seite lv - This is the desert, this the solitude : How populous, how vital is the grave ! This is Creation's melancholy vault, The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom; The land of apparitions, empty shades ! All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond Is substance; the reverse is Folly's creed.
Seite lii - Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more. Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To reason, and on reason build resolve (That column of true majesty in man,) Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; The grave, your kingdom.
Seite liii - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours: Where are they? With the years beyond the flood It is the signal that demands despatch: How much is to be done!
Seite xxx - For letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky...
Seite liv - Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the Deity ! A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt ! Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust : Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost.

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