
Leigh Hunt Table-Talk (1851) pp. 147-8.
Criticism
An Orson of the Muse http://www.globusz.com/ebooks/MeredithPoems2/00000028.htm (1883).
Leigh Hunt Table-Talk (1851) pp. 147-8.
Criticism
“Even as the light that shifts and plays upon a lake, when Cynthia looks forth from heaven or the bright wheel of Phoebus in mid course passes by, so doth he shed a gleam upon the waters; he heeds not the shadow of the Nymph or her hair or the sound of her as she rises to embrace him. Greedily casting her arms about him, as he calls, alack! too late for help and utters the name of his mighty friend, she draws him down; for her strength is aided by his falling weight.”
Stagna vaga sic luce micant ubi Cynthia caelo
prospicit aut medii transit rota candida Phoebi,
tale iubar diffundit aquis: nil umbra comaeque
turbavitque sonus surgentis ad oscula nymphae.
illa avidas iniecta manus heu sera cientem
auxilia et magni referentem nomen amici
detrahit, adiutae prono nam pondere vires.
Source: Argonautica, Book III, Lines 558–564
The Valley of True Poverty and Absolute Nothingness
The Seven Valleys Of Bahá’u’lláh
Context: He who hath attained this station is sanctified from all that pertaineth to the world. Wherefore, if those who have come to the sea of His presence are found to possess none of the limited things of this perishable world, whether it be outer wealth or personal opinions, it mattereth not. For whatever the creatures have is limited by their own limits, and whatever the True One hath is sanctified therefrom; this utterance must be deeply pondered that its purport may be clear. “Verily the righteous shall drink of a winecup tempered at the camphor fountain.” If the interpretation of “camphor” become known, the true intention will be evident. This state is that poverty of which it is said, “Poverty is My glory.” And of inward and outward poverty there is many a stage and many a meaning which I have not thought pertinent to mention here; hence I have reserved these for another time, dependent on what God may desire and fate may seal.
“The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.”
Source: L'Allegro (1631), Line 36
“you're a diabolical little pyro, aren't you?
He blushed modestly.”