Madeline With other poems and parables: By Thomas Gordon Hake |
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III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. | VII.
ON NATURE. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
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XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
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XVI. |
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XXIV. |
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XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
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LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
Madeline | ||
181
VII. ON NATURE.
Cyclopean shelves from out whose granite base
Basaltic columns and red porphyry wind,
What volumes rest their lore within thy case;
What metaphysics of an elder mind!
Basaltic columns and red porphyry wind,
What volumes rest their lore within thy case;
What metaphysics of an elder mind!
Of old Silurian times, the rocky age,
What well-kept registers the changes ring:
But search through every cipher of the page,
No plague of life the records say or sing.
What well-kept registers the changes ring:
But search through every cipher of the page,
No plague of life the records say or sing.
And thou Devonian era, and the clime
Where erst the old red waters formed the lands,
The hour-glass set upon a ledge of time
Has piled upon thy tome its pleasant sands.
Where erst the old red waters formed the lands,
The hour-glass set upon a ledge of time
Has piled upon thy tome its pleasant sands.
Ye too, dark ages of the timber-graves,
Now tell again how forests, undeplored,
Went in a minute under half the waves,
And, self-embalmed, for future use were stored.
Now tell again how forests, undeplored,
Went in a minute under half the waves,
And, self-embalmed, for future use were stored.
182
Then comes the monster-folio, engraved
On stone, the text of life to illustrate;
To show that no gigantic form was saved,
By order of a then fastidious fate.
On stone, the text of life to illustrate;
To show that no gigantic form was saved,
By order of a then fastidious fate.
Great Permian epoch, thou whose earthworks tell
Such rack and ruin of thy middle age,
With what a future does thy volume swell!
Now ended like unto thy heritage.
Such rack and ruin of thy middle age,
With what a future does thy volume swell!
Now ended like unto thy heritage.
Still the deep voices sound upon the beach,
In waves that tread the golden sands of time,
And to the passing soul a sermon preach
Interpreted by none, to all sublime.
In waves that tread the golden sands of time,
And to the passing soul a sermon preach
Interpreted by none, to all sublime.
Nor, high above, the burning lava posed
With its volcanic torch these shelves shall light
Until by Nature's hand the work is closed:
Those flames the oldest record of her might.
With its volcanic torch these shelves shall light
Until by Nature's hand the work is closed:
Those flames the oldest record of her might.
Madeline | ||