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Read Ebook: Treatise on Poisons In relation to medical jurisprudence physiology and the practice of physic by Christison Robert Sir
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Ebook has 478 lines and 22786 words, and 10 pages
Think not in your pureness there, That our pain but follows sin: There are fires for those who dare Seek the throne of might to win.
Pure one, from your pride refrain: Dark and lost amid the strife I am myriad years of pain Nearer to the fount of life.
When defiance fierce is thrown At the god to whom you bow, Rest the lips of the Unknown Tenderest upon my brow.
BABYLON
The blue dusk ran between the streets: my love was winged within my mind, It left to-day and yesterday and thrice a thousand years behind. To-day was past and dead for me, for from to-day my feet had run Through thrice a thousand years to walk the ways of ancient Babylon. On temple top and palace roof the burnished gold flung back the rays Of a red sunset that was dead and lost beyond a million days. The tower of heaven turns darker blue, a starry sparkle now begins; The mystery and magnificence, the myriad beauty and the sins Come back to me. I walk beneath the shadowy multitude of towers; Within the gloom the fountain jets its pallid mist in lily flowers. The waters lull me and the scent of many gardens, and I hear Familiar voices, and the voice I love is whispering in my ear. Oh real as in dream all this; and then a hand on mine is laid: The wave of phantom time withdraws; and that young Babylonian maid, One drop of beauty left behind from all the flowing of that tide, Is looking with the self-same eyes, and here in Ireland by my side. Oh light our life in Babylon, but Babylon has taken wings, While we are in the calm and proud procession of eternal things.
ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON
MAKING HASTE
"Soon!" says the Snowdrop, and smiles at the motherly earth, "Soon!--for the Spring with her languors comes stealthily on Snow was my cradle, and chill winds sang at my birth; Winter is over--and I must make haste to be gone!"
"Soon," says the Swallow, and dips to the wind-ruffled stream, "Grain is all garnered--the Summer is over and done; Bleak to the eastward the icy battalions gleam, Summer is over--and I must make haste to be gone!"
"Soon--ah, too soon!" says the Soul, with a pitiful gaze, "Soon!--for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone! See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays, Leaps from the mountains--and I must make haste to be gone!"
AT EVENTIDE
At morn I saw the level plain So rich and small beneath my feet, A sapphire sea without a stain, And fields of golden-waving wheat; Lingering I said, "At noon I'll be At peace by that sweet-scented tide. How far, how fair my course shall be, Before I come to the Eventide!"
Where is it fled, that radiant plain? I stumble now in miry ways; Dark clouds drift landward, big with rain, And lonely moors their summits raise. On, on with hurrying feet I range, And left and right in the dumb hillside Grey gorges open, drear and strange, And so I come to the Eventide!
IN A COLLEGE GARDEN
I too have seen Love rise, like a star; I have marked his setting; I dreamed in my folly and pride that Life without Love were peace. But if Love should await me yet, in the land of sleep and forgetting-- Ah, bird, could you sing me this, I would not your song should cease!
ANNA BUNSTON
A MORTGAGED INHERITANCE
I knew a land whose streams did wind More winningly than these, Where finer shadows played behind The clean-stemmed beechen trees. The maidens there were deeper eyed, The lads more swift and fair, And angels walked at each one's side-- Would God that I were there!
Here daffodils are dressed in gold, But there they wore the sun, And here the blooms are bought and sold, But there God gave each one. There all roads led to fairyland That here do lead to care, And stars were lamps on Heaven's strand-- Would God, that I were there!
Here worship crawls upon her course That there with larks would cope, And here her voice with doubt is hoarse That there was sweet with hope. O land of Peace! my spirit dies For thy once tasted air, O earliest loss! O latest prize! Would God that I were there!
THE WILDERNESS
From Life's enchantments, Desire of place, From lust of getting Turn thou away, and set thy face Toward the wilderness.
The tents of Jacob As valleys spread, As goodly cedars, Or fair lign aloes, white and red, Shall share thy wilderness.
With awful judgments, The law, the rod, With soft allurements And comfortable words, will God Pass o'er the wilderness.
The bitter waters Are healed and sweet, The ample heavens Pour angel's bread about thy feet Throughout the wilderness.
And Carmel's glory Thou thoughtest gone, And Sharon's roses, The excellency of Lebanon Delight thy wilderness.
Who passeth Jordan Perfumed with myrrh, With myrrh and incense? Lo! on his arm Love leadeth her Who trod the wilderness.
UNDER A WILTSHIRE APPLE TREE
Some folks as can afford, So I've heard say, Sets up a sort of cross Right in the garden way To mind 'em of the Lord.
But I, when I do see Thic apple tree An' stoopin' limb All spread wi' moss, I think of Him And how he talks wi' me.
I think of God And how he trod That garden long ago: He walked, I reckon, to and fro And then sat down Upon the groun' Or some low limb What suited Him Same as you see On many a tree, And on this very one Where I at set o' sun Do sit and talk wi' He.
An' mornings, too, I rise an' come An' sit down where the branch be low; A bird do sing, a bee do hum, The flowers in the border blow, An' all my heart's so glad an' clear As pools be when the sun do peer: As pools a laughin' in the light When mornin' air is swep' an' bright, As pools what got all Heaven in sight So's my heart's cheer When He be near.
He never pushed the garden door, He left no footmark on the floor; I never heard 'Un stir nor tread An' yet His Hand do bless my head, And when 'tis time for work to start I takes Him with me in my heart.
And when I die, pray God I see At very last thic apple tree An' stoopin' limb, An' think o' Him And all He been to me.
G. K. CHESTERTON
SONNET WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON
I know you. You will hail the huge release, Saying the sheathing of a thousand swords, In silence and injustice, well accords With Christmas bells. And you will gild with grease The papers, the employers, the police, And vomit up the void your windy words To your new Christ; who bears no whip of cords For them that traffic in the doves of peace.
The feast of friends, the candle-fruited tree, I have not failed to honour. And I say It would be better for such men as we And we be nearer Bethlehem, if we lay Shot dead on snows scarlet for Liberty, Dead in the daylight; upon Christmas Day.
WHEN I CAME BACK TO FLEET STREET
When I came back to Fleet Street, Through a sunset-nook at night, And saw the old Green Dragon With the windows all alight, And hailed the old Green Dragon And the Cock I used to know, Where all the good fellows were my friends A little while ago.
I had been long in meadows, And the trees took hold of me, And the still towns in the beech-woods, Where men were meant to be; But old things held; the laughter, The long unnatural night, And all the truth the talk in hell, And all the lies they write.
For I came back to Fleet Street, And not in peace I came; A cloven pride was in my heart, And half my love was shame. I came to fight in fairy tale, Whose end shall no man know-- To fight the old Green Dragon Until the Cock shall crow!
Under the broad bright windows Of men I serve no more, The groaning of the old great wheels Thickened to a throttled roar; All buried things broke upwards; And peered from its retreat, Ugly and silent, like an elf, The secret of the street.
They did not break the padlocks, Or clear the wall away. The men in debt that drank of old Still drink in debt to-day; Chained to the rich by ruin, Cheerful in chains, as then When old unbroken Pickwick walked Among the broken men.
Still he that dreams and rambles Through his own elfin air, Knows that the street's a prison, Knows that the gates are there: Still he that scorns or struggles, Sees frightful and afar All that they leave of rebels Rot high on Temple Bar.
All that I loved and hated, All that I shunned and knew, Clears in broad battle lightening; Where they, and I, and you, Run high the barricade that breaks The barriers of the Street, And shout to them that shrink within, The Prisoners of the Fleet!
THE TRUCE OF CHRISTMAS
Passionate peace is in the sky And on the snow in silver sealed The beasts are perfect in the field And men seem men so suddenly But take ten swords, and ten times ten, And blow the bugle in praising men For we are for all men under the sun And they are against us every one And misers haggle, and mad men clutch And there is peril in praising much And we have the terrible tongues un-curled That praise the world to the sons of the world.
The idle humble hill and wood Are bowed about the sacred Birth And for one little while the earth Is lazy with the love of good But ready are you and ready am I If the battle blow and the guns go by For we are for all men under the sun And they are against us every one For the men that hate herd altogether To pride and gold and the great white feather And the thing is graven in star and stone That the men that love are all alone.
Hunger is hard and time is tough But bless the beggars and kiss the kings For hope has broken the heart of things And nothing was ever praised enough But hold the shield for a sudden swing And point the sword in praising a thing For we are for all men under the sun And they are against us every one And mime and merchant, thane and thrall, Hate us because we love them all Only till Christmas time goes by Passionate peace is in the sky.
FRANCES CORNFORD
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