St. 6
The Present Crisis (1844)
Context: Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet ’tis Truth alone is strong,
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.
“But Justice, though her dome [doom] she doe prolong,
Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.”
Canto 11, stanza 1
The Faerie Queene (1589–1596), Book V
On his daughter, Nastassja. p. 286
Kinski Uncut : The Autobiography of Klaus Kinski (1996)
The Moon from The London Literary Gazette (25th March 1826)
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
The Love-knot, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
In " The role Emeka Ike played in my marriage http://www.vanguardngr.com/2013/06/the-role-emeka-ike-played-in-my-marriage/" by Opeoluwani Ogunjimi on vanguardngr.com, June 15, 2013: On her song "African Woman Skillashy"
Beatrice (1862), st. 1
Three Sunsets and Other Poems (1898)
Arthur's commentary
The Nemesis of Faith (1849)
Context: All, all nature is harmonious, and must and shall be harmony for ever; even we, poor men, with our wild ways and frantic wrongs, and crimes, and follies, to the beings out beyond us and above us, seem, doubtless, moving on our own way under the broad dominion of universal law. The wretched only feel their wretchedness: in the universe all is beautiful. Ay, to those lofty beings, be they who they will, who look down from their starry thrones on the strange figures flitting to and fro over this earth of ours, the wild recklessness of us mortals with each other may well lose its painful interest. Why should our misdoings cause more grief to them than those of the lower animals to ourselves? Pain and pleasure are but forms of consciousness; we feel them for ourselves, and for those who are like ourselves. To man alone the doings of man are wrong; the evil which is with us dies out beyond us; we are but a part of nature, and blend with the rest in her persevering beauty.
Poor consolers are such thoughts, for they are but thoughts, and, alas! our pain we feel.
