work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:54:09 UTC,"On all-important time, through every age,
Though much, and warm, the wise have urged, the man
Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour.
""I've lost a day""--the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown;
""Of Rome?"" say, rather, lord of human race:
He spoke as if deputed by mankind.
So should all speak: so Reason speaks in all.
From the soft whispers of that god in man,
Why fly to Folly, why to Frenzy fly,
For rescue from the blessing we possess?
Time, the supreme!---time is eternity;
Pregnant with all eternity can give;
Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile.
Who murders time, he crushes in the birth
A power ethereal, only not adored.
(ll. 96-111, pp. 53-4 in CUP edition)",,20397,"","""So should all speak: so Reason speaks in all. / From the soft whispers of that god in man, / Why fly to Folly, why to Frenzy fly, / For rescue from the blessing we possess?""",Inhabitants,2013-06-05 20:54:09 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:55:18 UTC,"Ah! how unjust to Nature and himself
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!
Like children babbling nonsense in their sports,
We censure Nature for a span too short;
That span too short we tax as tedious too;
Torture invention, all expedients tire,
To lash the lingering moments into speed,
And whirl us (happy riddance!) from ourselves.
Art, brainless Art! our furious charioteer,
(For Nature's voice unstifled would recall,)
Drives headlong towards the precipice of death;
Death, most our dread; death thus more dreadful made.
O what a riddle of absurdity!
Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot-wheels;
How heavily we drag the load of life!
Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain,
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that tyrant, Thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
We cry for mercy to the next amusement;
The next amusement mortgages our fields;
Slight inconvenience! Prisons hardly frown,
From hateful time if prisons set us free.
Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief,
We call him cruel: years to moments shrink,
Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd.
To man's false optics (from his folly false)
Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings,
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age.
Behold him, when pass'd by; what then is seen
But his broad pinions, swifter than the winds?
And all mankind, in contradiction strong,
Rueful, aghast, cry out on his career.
(ll. 112-144, p. 54 in CUP edition)",,20398,"","""It makes us wander; wander earth around / To fly that tyrant, Thought.""","",2013-06-05 20:55:18 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,"Leave to thy foes these errors, and these ills;
To Nature just, their cause and cure explore.
Not short Heaven's bounty, boundless our expense;
No niggard, Nature; men are prodigals.
We waste, not use, our time; we breathe, not live.
Time wasted is existence, used is life.
And bare existence man, to live ordain'd,
Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight.
And why? Since time was given for use, not waste,
Enjoin'd to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars,
To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man;
Time's use was doom'd a pleasure; waste, a pain;
That man might feel his error, if unseen;
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure;
Not, blundering, split on idleness for ease.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven design'd;
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse; action all their joy.
(ll. 145-164, pp. 54-5 in CUP edition)",,20399,"","""The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest, / To souls most adverse; action all their joy.""","",2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:57:27 UTC,"Here, then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds:
Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool.
We rave, we wrestle with great Nature's plan;
We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed,
Who thwart His will shall contradict their own.
Hence our unnatural quarrel with ourselves;
Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom-broil:
We push Time from us, and we wish him back;
Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life;
Life we think long and short; Death seek and shun;
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife,
United jar, and yet are loath to part.
(ll. 165-176, p. 55 in CUP edition)",,20400,"","""Life we think long and short; Death seek and shun; / Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, / United jar, and yet are loath to part.""",Inhabitants,2013-06-05 20:57:27 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:59:52 UTC,"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast!
Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon?
(ll. 256-283, pp. 57-8 in CUP edition)",,20401,"","""O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep / On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song; / While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop / On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, / And give us up to licence, unrecall'd, / Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand, / The sly informer minutes every fault, / And her dread diary with horror fills.""","Animals, Inhabitants, and Writing",2013-06-05 20:59:52 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast!
Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon?
(ll. 256-283, pp. 57-8 in CUP edition)",,20402,"","""Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity.""",Inhabitants,2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:03:57 UTC,"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast!
Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon?
(ll. 256-283, pp. 57-8 in CUP edition)",,20403,"","""Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast! / Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such / For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!""",Inhabitants,2013-06-05 21:03:57 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:06:51 UTC,"Where shall I find him? Angels! tell me where.
You know him: he is near you: point him out:
Shall I see glories beaming from his brow,
Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers?
Your golden wings, now hovering o'er him, shed
Protection; now are waving in applause
To that blest Son of Foresight! Lord of Fate!
That awful Independent on To-morrow!
Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past;
Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile;
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly;
That common, but opprobrious lot! Past hours,
If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight,
If folly bounds our prospect by the grave,
All feeling of futurity benumb'd;
All god-like passion for eternals quench'd;
All relish of realities expired;
Renounced all correspondence with the skies;
Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire;
In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar;
Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust;
Dismounted every great and glorious aim;
Embruted every faculty divine;
Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world:
The world, that gulf of souls, immortal souls,
Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire
To reach the distant skies, and triumph there
On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters changed;
Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell.
Such veneration due, O man, to man.
(ll. 325-354, pp. 59-60 in CUP edition)",,20404,"","""Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire; / In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar / Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; / Dismounted every great and glorious aim; / Embruted every faculty divine; / Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world.""",Animals and Fetters and Rooms,2013-06-05 21:06:51 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:07:56 UTC,"Where shall I find him? Angels! tell me where.
You know him: he is near you: point him out:
Shall I see glories beaming from his brow,
Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers?
Your golden wings, now hovering o'er him, shed
Protection; now are waving in applause
To that blest Son of Foresight! Lord of Fate!
That awful Independent on To-morrow!
Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past;
Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile;
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly;
That common, but opprobrious lot! Past hours,
If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight,
If folly bounds our prospect by the grave,
All feeling of futurity benumb'd;
All god-like passion for eternals quench'd;
All relish of realities expired;
Renounced all correspondence with the skies;
Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire;
In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar;
Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust;
Dismounted every great and glorious aim;
Embruted every faculty divine;
Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world:
The world, that gulf of souls, immortal souls,
Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire
To reach the distant skies, and triumph there
On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters changed;
Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell.
Such veneration due, O man, to man.
(ll. 325-354, pp. 59-60 in CUP edition)",,20405,"","""Souls [are] elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire / To reach the distant skies, and triumph there / On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters changed; / Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell.""",Animals,2013-06-05 21:07:56 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:08:51 UTC,"Who venerate themselves, the world despise.
For what, gay friend, is this escutcheon'd world,
Which hangs out DEATH in one eternal night?
A night that glooms us in the noon-tide ray,
And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the shroud.
Life's little stage is a small eminence,
Inch-high the grave above; that home of man,
Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around;
We read their monuments; we sigh; and while
We sigh, we sink, and are what we deplored:
Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot!
(ll. 355-362, p. 60 in CUP edition)",,20406,"","""A night that glooms us in the noon-tide ray, / And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the shroud.""","",2013-06-05 21:08:51 UTC,Night the Second