Seeds of Happiness - Book 4 (The Kewts)

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Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods, Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave; But ever since I heedlessly did lave In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow Grew strong within me: wherefore serve me so, And call it love? Innocent maid! Stifle thine heart no more;—-nor be afraid Of angry powers: there are deities Will shade us with their wings.

Dear maiden, steal Blushing into my soul, and let us fly These dreary caverns for the open sky. Dian stands Severe before me: persecuting fate! Unhappy Arethusa! More suddenly than doth a moment go, The visions of the earth were gone and fled—- He saw the giant sea above his head. Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few! Have bared their operations to this globe—- Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe Our piece of heaven—-whose benevolence Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, As bees gorge full their cells. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet!

O Moon!

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Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding-place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house.

What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? Where will the splendor be content to reach? O love! A cold leaden awe These secrets struck into him; and unless Dian had chaced away that heaviness, He might have died: but now, with cheered feel, He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal About the labyrinth in his soul of love.

No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign. O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! But, gentle Orb! She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away—- Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway Has been an under-passion to this hour.

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Now I begin to feel thine orby power Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind, Keep back thine influence, and do not blind My sovereign vision. How far beyond! Now shall I lay my head In peace upon my watery pillow: now Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow. O Jove! I shall be young again, be young!

What shall I do? Where go, When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe? O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three, I bow full hearted to your old decree! Thou art the man! Or will he touch me with his searing hand, And leave a black memorial on the sand? Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw, And keep me as a chosen food to draw His magian fish through hated fire and flame?

O misery of hell! Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell Would melt at thy sweet breath. Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought, Convulsion to a mouth of many years? He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears. The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt About his large dark locks, and faultering spake:. Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago. One thousand years! Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall, My long captivity and moanings all Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum, The which I breathe away, and thronging come Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures.

The poor folk of the sea-country I blest With daily boon of fish most delicate: They knew not whence this bounty, and elate Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach. Wherefore reach At things which, but for thee, O Latmian! Had been my dreary death? At first I dwelt Whole days and days in sheer astonishment; Forgetful utterly of self-intent; Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. No need to tell thee of them, for I see That thou hast been a witness—-it must be For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth, By the melancholy corners of that mouth.

So I will in my story straightway pass To more immediate matter.

Woe, alas! That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! Why did poor Glaucus ever—-ever dare To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth! Timid thing! She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, Round every isle, and point, and promontory, From where large Hercules wound up his story Far as Egyptian Nile. How sweet, and sweeter! Starry Jove! Art awake? Why, I have shed An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead; And now I find thee living, I will pour From these devoted eyes their silver store, Until exhausted of the latest drop, So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop Here, that I too may live: but if beyond Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme; If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream; If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute, Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit, O let me pluck it for thee.

Who in this universe? She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse My fine existence in a golden clime. She took me like a child of suckling time, And cradled me in roses. For as Apollo each eve doth devise A new appareling for western skies; So every eve, nay every spendthrift hour Shed balmy consciousness within that bower. I came to a dark valley. O such deformities!

Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer! I saw a fury whetting a death-dart; And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright, Fainted away in that dark lair of night. Think, my deliverer, how desolate My waking must have been! O Dis, even now, A clammy dew is beading on my brow, At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse.

Sir Dainty! So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies Unheard of yet; and it shall still its cries Upon some breast more lily-feminine. Young dove of the waters! And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so. Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe, Let me sob over thee my last adieus, And speak a blessing: Mark me! Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast; And there, ere many days be overpast, Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then Thou shalt not go the way of aged men; But live and wither, cripple and still breathe Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeath Thy fragile bones to unknown burial.

Adieu, sweet love, adieu! Cursed, cursed Circe! O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy? I beheld the wreck; The final gulphing; the poor struggling souls: I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls. I was athirst To search the book, and in the warming air Parted its dripping leaves with eager care. Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on My soul page after page, till well-nigh won Into forgetfulness; when, stupefied, I read these words, and read again, and tried My eyes against the heavens, and read again.

O what a load of misery and pain Each Atlas-line bore off! For thou hast brought their promise to an end. Who can devise A total opposition? No one. So One million times ocean must ebb and flow, And he oppressed.


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Sure never since king Neptune held his state Was seen such wonder underneath the stars. Imagine further, line by line, These warrior thousands on the field supine:—- So in that crystal place, in silent rows, Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes. Ah, gentle! A power overshadows thee! Oh, brave! The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave. Now, Carian, break This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal. How lightning-swift the change! Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied—- The nymph arose: he left them to their joy, And onward went upon his high employ, Showering those powerful fragments on the dead.

There arose A noise of harmony, pulses and throes Of gladness in the air—-while many, who Had died in mutual arms devout and true, Sprang to each other madly; and the rest Felt a high certainty of being blest. Enchantment Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent. Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far, Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar, Just within ken, they saw descending thick Another multitude. Whereat more quick Moved either host. On a wide sand they met, And of those numbers every eye was wet; For each their old love found.

Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts A blush of coral. Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze, And then, behold! They stood in dreams Till Triton blew his horn.

Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed On all the multitude a nectarous dew. Now this is cruel. A little patience, youth! Aye, I have seen these signs in one of heaven, When others were all blind; and were I given To utter secrets, haply I might say Some pleasant words:—-but Love will have his day. So wait awhile expectant. Meantime a glorious revelry began Before the Water-Monarch. O do not curse, High Muses! All suddenly were silent. A soft blending Of dulcet instruments came charmingly; And then a hymn.

Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor Of elements! Eternally before Thee the waves awful bow. All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide home Of thy capacious bosom ever flow. Dark clouds faint When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team Gulphs in the morning light, and scuds along To bring thee nearer to that golden song Apollo singeth, while his chariot Waits at the doors of heaven.

O shell-borne King sublime! We lay our hearts before thee evermore—- We sing, and we adore! O sweetest essence! Dear unseen light in darkness! Was heard no more For clamour, when the golden palace door Opened again, and from without, in shone A new magnificence. The palace whirls Around giddy Endymion; seeing he Was there far strayed from mortality. He could not bear it—-shut his eyes in vain; Imagination gave a dizzier pain. Where is my lovely mistress? A sudden ring Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife To usher back his spirit into life: But still he slept.

Arise then! How happy once again in grassy nest! Muse of my native land! O first-born on the mountains! There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:—- Yet wast thou patient. O thou hast won A full accomplishment! The thing is done, Which undone, these our latter days had risen On barren souls. Long have I said, how happy he who shrives To thee! But then I thought on poets gone, And could not pray:—-nor can I now—so on I move to the end in lowliness of heart. Ah, foolish maid! Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields! To one so friendless the clear freshet yields A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour: Yet I would have, great gods!

Whereupon he bows His head through thorny-green entanglement Of underwood, and to the sound is bent, Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn. No fair dawn Of life from charitable voice? No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet That I may worship them? No eyelids meet To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies Before me, till from these enslaving eyes Redemption sparkles! Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air, Warm mountaineer! See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless? Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass For tenderness the arms so idly lain Amongst them?

Feelest not a kindred pain, To see such lovely eyes in swimming search After some warm delight, that seems to perch Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond Their upper lids? Ah me, how I could love! I have felt So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender To what my own full thoughts had made too tender, That but for tears my life had fled away!

Upon a bough He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now Thirst for another love: O impious, That he can even dream upon it thus! O fond pretence—- For both, for both my love is so immense, I feel my heart is cut in twain for them. He sprang from his green covert: there she lay, Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay; With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries. O pardon me, for I am full of grief—- Grief born of thee, young angel!

Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith I was to top the heavens. Then should I be content. Scowl on, ye fates! By the cloud girth Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst To meet oblivion. Are not these green nooks Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks Utter a gorgon voice? That I may pass in patience still speak: Let me have music dying, and I seek No more delight—-I bid adieu to all. Didst thou not after other climates call, And murmur about Indian streams? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?

O then, O then, thou wast a simple name! So many, and so many, and such glee? Bacchus on the wing? A conquering! Bacchus, young Bacchus! Sweetest Sorrow! O what a sigh she gave in finishing, And look, quite dead to every worldly thing! Fair Melody!

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Alas, I must not think—-by Phoebe, no! Let me not think, soft Angel! Say, beautifullest, shall I never think? Do gently murder half my soul, and I Shall feel the other half so utterly! Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear! And whisper one sweet word that I may know This is this world—-sweet dewy blossom! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he? Diving swans appear Above the crystal circlings white and clear; And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise, How they can dive in sight and unseen rise—- So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black, Each with large dark blue wings upon his back.

Through the air they flew, High as the eagles. This is the giddy air, and I must spread Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance Precipitous: I have beneath my glance Those towering horses and their mournful freight. Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid? Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isle Upon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhile The mournful wanderer dreams.

Whose bugle? Why is this mortal here? Not thou? She rises crescented! O state perplexing! On the pinion bed, Too well awake, he feels the panting side Of his delicious lady. He who died For soaring too audacious in the sun, Where that same treacherous wax began to run, Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion. Ah, well a day! At this the shadow wept, melting away. Search my most hidden breast! Is there nought for me, Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?

Sleep yawned from underneath. Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery! Can I prize thee, fair maid, all price above, Even when I feel as true as innocence? I do, I do. Whence Came it? It does not seem my own, and I Have no self-passion or identity. Some fearful end must be: where, where is it? The good-night blush of eve was waning slow, And Vesper, risen star, began to throe In the dusk heavens silvery, when they Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy. He saw her body fading gaunt and spare In the cold moonshine. There lies a den, Beyond the seeming confines of the space Made for the soul to wander in and trace Its own existence, of remotest glooms.

But few have ever felt how calm and well Sleep may be had in that deep den of all. There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall: Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate, Yet all is still within and desolate. Enter none Who strive therefore: on the sudden it is won. Just when the sufferer begins to burn, Then it is free to him; and from an urn, Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught—- Young Semele such richness never quaft In her maternal longing. Happy gloom! Dark Paradise! O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul! Pregnant with such a den to save the whole In thine own depth.

Hail, gentle Carian! For, never since thy griefs and woes began, Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud Hath let thee to this Cave of Quietude. So happy was he, not the aerial blowing Of trumpets at clear parley from the east Could rouse from that fine relish, that high feast. Thus warbled they, While past the vision went in bright array. For all the golden bowers of the day Are empty left? Not Hesperus: lo! And of the Bear has Pollux mastery: A third is in the race! The ramping Centaur! More Endymion heard not: down his steed him bore, Prone to the green head of a misty hill.

His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill. It is thy voice—-divinest! Behold upon this happy earth we are; Let us ay love each other; let us fare On forest-fruits, and never, never go Among the abodes of mortals here below, Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny! Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly, But with thy beauty will I deaden it.

Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sit For ever: let our fate stop here—-a kid I on this spot will offer: Pan will bid Us live in peace, in love and peace among His forest wildernesses. O I have been Presumptuous against love, against the sky, Against all elements, against the tie Of mortals each to each, against the blooms Of flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombs Of heroes gone! Against his proper glory Has my own soul conspired: so my story Will I to children utter, and repent.

My sweetest Indian, here, Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast My life from too thin breathing: gone and past Are cloudy phantasms.

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Caverns lone, farewel! And air of visions, and the monstrous swell Of visionary seas! No, never more Shall airy voices cheat me to the shore Of tangled wonder, breathless and aghast. Adieu, my daintiest Dream! The hour may come When we shall meet in pure elysium. On earth I may not love thee; and therefore Doves will I offer up, and sweetest store All through the teeming year: so thou wilt shine On me, and on this damsel fair of mine, And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss!

My river-lily bud! Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that! Under the brow Of some steep mossy hill, where ivy dun Would hide us up, although spring leaves were none; And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through, Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew? Still let me speak; Still let me dive into the joy I seek,—- For yet the past doth prison me. Its bottom will I strew with amber shells, And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells. Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness!

Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure? O that I could not doubt? Art thou not cruel? Use your favorite app to help you find great ideas on how to reconnect with Nature. Look out for local parks, beaches, or lakes that are easily accessible to you. Or why not bring a friend and share these nature quotes with them. Which of these nature quotes and sayings was your favorite?

Do you have any other inspirational quotes to add? Let us know in the comment section below. Your email address will not be published. Connect with us.

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Most of us already know that being in nature has healing properties. A jog around the park should do the trick. Do you live away from the nearest park or nature reserve? For instance, you could keep indoor potted plants at home. Tiny herb gardens of your favorite spices are also a nice addition. Check out these amazing nature quotes to help you reconnect with Mother Earth again.

It is home. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your email address will not be published. Related Topics: quotes. You may like Inspirational Quotes. Inspirational Quotes.