Dramatic Scenes With Other Poems, Now First Printed. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter]. Illustrated |
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 | Dramatic Scenes |  |
CELATA VIRTUS.
You give me praise for what I do;
You blame me for what's left undone:
Alas, how little is piercèd through,—
How little known of the lost or won,
Under the Sun.
You blame me for what's left undone:
Alas, how little is piercèd through,—
How little known of the lost or won,
Under the Sun.
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My dear friend here, (would I possessed
His genius—subtle, deep, divine!)
You judge his motion by his rest:
You sound him without length of line,
And miss the mine.
His genius—subtle, deep, divine!)
You judge his motion by his rest:
You sound him without length of line,
And miss the mine.
For every common thought I print,
How many a better lurks unsaid,
That wants the stamp, and leaves the mint
Unhonoured by the monarch's head,
And good as dead.
How many a better lurks unsaid,
That wants the stamp, and leaves the mint
Unhonoured by the monarch's head,
And good as dead.
How many a towering tree hath sprung
From seeds which wingèd wanderers spill;
How many a daily deed is sung
As good, which hath its source in ill,
Do what we will.
From seeds which wingèd wanderers spill;
How many a daily deed is sung
As good, which hath its source in ill,
Do what we will.
Our world opinions, half alloy,
Pass well: the rest aside are thrown:
And inmost deepest notes of joy
Move not; their own great meaning known
To the heart alone!
Pass well: the rest aside are thrown:
And inmost deepest notes of joy
Move not; their own great meaning known
To the heart alone!
Let's live our life then as we may;
Let's think,—as oft we've thought, in sooth,
Careless what passers by may say;
Kind to our kind, in age, in youth,
And true to truth.
Let's think,—as oft we've thought, in sooth,
Careless what passers by may say;
Kind to our kind, in age, in youth,
And true to truth.
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