The Poet (1830)
Context: The poet in a golden clime was born,
With golden stars above;
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love.
He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill,
He saw thro' his own soul.
The marvel of the everlasting will,
An open scroll,
Before him lay; with echoing feet he threaded
The secretest walks of fame:
The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
And wing'd with flame,
Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue...
“Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak'st not on those of woman born?”
Source: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book IV, p. 127
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John Conington 85
British classical scholar 1825–1869Related quotes
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Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned for SEGA.”
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“And better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.”
Source: The Monastery (1820), Ch. 12.
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