Our revels are now ended. These our actors
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all of which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Is rounded with a sleep.
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I have also spoken by the prophets, and I have multiplied
visions, and used similitudes, by the ministry of read more
I have also spoken by the prophets, and I have multiplied
visions, and used similitudes, by the ministry of the prophets.
And like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.
And like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.
Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment hence!
- Horace Smith and James Smith,
Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment hence!
- Horace Smith and James Smith,
Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras dire.
Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras dire.
Concerning perfect blessed ness which consists in a vision of
God.
[Lat., Circa beatitudinem perfectam, quae in Dei read more
Concerning perfect blessed ness which consists in a vision of
God.
[Lat., Circa beatitudinem perfectam, quae in Dei visione
consistit.]
It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that read more
It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves.
Hence the fool's paradise, the statesman's scheme,
The air-built castle, and the golden dream,
The maid's romantic read more
Hence the fool's paradise, the statesman's scheme,
The air-built castle, and the golden dream,
The maid's romantic wish, the chemist's flame,
And poet's vision of eternal fame.
I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang
sweeter!
I wonder if ever read more
I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang
sweeter!
I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the
meter!
I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed
his ardent thought!
Or, if ever a painter with light and shade the dream of his
inmost heart portrayed!
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
