And giant sins possess it; and it worships
Works of the hand, head, heart—its own or others—
A creature worship, which excludeth God’s:
The less thrusts out the greater. Warning comes,
But the heart fears not—feels not; till at last
Down comes the flood from Heaven; and that heart,
Broken inwards, earthlike, to its central hell;
Or like the bright and burning eye we see
Inly, when pressed hard backwards on the brain,
Ends and begins again—destroyed, is saved.
Every man is the first man to himself,
And Eves are just as plentiful as apples;
Nor do we fall, nor are we saved by proxy.
The Eden we live in is our own heart;
And the first thing we do, of our free choice,
Is sure and necessary to be sin.
The only right me have is to be damned.
What is the good of music, or the beauty?
Music tells no truths.
Oh! there is nought so sweet
As lying and listening music from the hands,
And singing from the lips, of one we love—
Lips that all others should be turned to. Then
The world would all be love and song; Heaven’s harps
And orbs join in: the whole be harmony—
Distinct, yet blended—blending all in one
Long and delicious tremble like a chord.
But to Thee, God! all being is a harp,
Whereon Thou makest mightiest melody.
Hast ever been in love?
I never was.
’Tis love which mostly destinates our life.
What makes the world it after life I know not,
For our horizon alters as we age:
Power only can make up for the lack of love—
Power of some sort. The mind at one time grows
So fast, it fails; and then its stretch is more
Than its strength; but, as it opes, love fills it up,
Like to the stamen in the flower of life,
Till for the time we well-nigh grow all love;
And soon we feel the want of one kind heart
To love what’s well, and to forgive what’s ill,
In us—that heart we play for at all risks.
How can the heart which lies embodied deep,
In blood and bone, set like a ruby eye
Into the breast, be made a toy for beauty,
And, vane-like, blown about by every wanton sigh?
How can the soul, the rich star-travelled stranger,
Who here sojourneth only for a purchase,
Risk all the riches of his years of toil,
And his God-vouched inheritance of Heaven,
For one light momentary taste of love?
It is so; and when once you know the sport—
The crowded pack of passions in full cry—
The sweet deceits, the tempting obstacles—
The smile, the sigh, the tear, and the embrace—
All the delights of love at last in one,
With kisses close as stars in the milky way,
In at the death you cry, though ’twere your own!
Upon my soul, most sound morality!
Nothing is thought of virtue, then, nor judgment?
Oh! everything is thought of—but not then,
And—judgment—no! it is nowhere in the field.
Slow-paced and late arriving, still it comes.
I cannot understand this love; I hear
Of its idolatry, not its respect.
Respect is what we owe; love what we give.
And men would mostly rather give than pay.
Morality’s the right rule for the world,
Nor could society cohere without
Virtue; and there are those whose spirits walk
Abreast of angels and the future, here.
Respect and love thou such.
Of course you wish
Women to love you rather than love them.
It is better. Now, you say you are a student.
All things take study; what more than the face—
Whether year own, or hers you look and long at?
There are many ways to one end: here is one:—
You are good-looking; but that matters little:
It only pleases them. To please yourself
Your face may be as ugly as the—. Well, well;
But you must cultivate yourself: it will pay you.
Study a dimple; work hard at a smile:
The things most delicate require most pains.
Practice the upward—now the sidelong glance—
Now the long passionful unwinking gaze,
Which beats itself at last, and sees air only.
Be restless, and distress yourself for her.
Take up her hand—press it, and pore on it—
Let it drop—snatch it again as though you had
Let slip so much of honor or of Heaven.
Swear—vow by all means—never miss an oath:
If broken, why it only spoils itself;
It is a broken oath and not an whole one.
Frown—toss about—let her lips be for a time:
But steal a kiss at last like fire from Heaven.
Weep if you can, and call the tears heat-drops.
Droop your head—sigh deep—play the fool, in short,
One hour, and she will play the fool for ever.
Mind! it is folly to tell women truth;
They would rather live on lies so they be sweet.
Never be long in one mind to one love.
You change your practice with your subject. All
Differ. But yet, who knows one woman well
By heart, knows all. It is my experience;
And I advise on good authority.
So thank me for my lecture on delusion.
Time laughs at love. It is a hateful sight,
That bald old grey-beard jeering the boy, Love.
But as to women: that game has two sides.
Passion is om affection; and there is nought
So maddening and so lowering as to have
The worse in passion. Think, when one by one,
Pride, love, and jealousy, and fifty more
Great feelings column up to force a heart.
And all are beaten back—all fail—all fail:
The tower intact: but risk it: we must learn.
To know the world, be wise and be a fool.
The heart will have its swing—the world its way:
Who seeks to stop them, only throws himself down.
We must take as we find: go as they go,
Or stand aside. Let the world have the wall.
How do you think, pray, to get through the world?
I mean not to get through the world at all,
But over it.
Aspiring! You will find
The world is all up-hill when we would do;
All down-hill when we suffer. Nay, it will part
Like the Red Sea, so that the poor may pass.
We make our compliments to wretchedness,
And hope the poor want nothing, and are well.
But I mean, what profession will you choose?
Surely you will do something for a name.
Names are of much more consequence than things.
Well; here’s our honest, all-exhorting friend
The parson—here the
