Maxioms by Francis Thompson
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish read more
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish in our own.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain read more
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain And perish in our own.
The immortal could we cease to contemplate,
The mortal part suggests its every trait.
God laid His read more
The immortal could we cease to contemplate,
The mortal part suggests its every trait.
God laid His fingers on the ivories
Of her pure members as on smoothed keys,
And there out-breathed her spirit's harmonies.
She went her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
The pang of all the partings read more
She went her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
The pang of all the partings gone,
And partings yet to be.
So for thy spirit did devise
Its Maker seemly garniture,
Of its own essence parcel pure.--
read more
So for thy spirit did devise
Its Maker seemly garniture,
Of its own essence parcel pure.--
From grave simplicities a dress,
And reticent demureness,
And love encinctured with reserve;
Which the woven vesture would subserve.
For outward robes in their ostents
Should show the soul's habiliments.
Therefore I say,--Thou'rt fair even so,
But better Fair I use to know.