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France: an Ode

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The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles and wear the name
Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
O Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour;
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves!
And there I felt thee! -on that sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,
Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there.


Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1722-1834)


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¥Í¥Ã¥È¤ò¸«¤Æ¤¤¤Æ¥¢¡¼¥Á¥Ü¥ë¥È¡¦¥Þ¥¯¥ê¡¼¥·¥å Archibald MacLeish ¤È¤¤¤¦Ì¾Á°¤Ëµ¤ÉÕ¤¤¤¿¡£¥¢¥á¥ê¥«¤ÇÀ¸¤Þ¤ì¤Î»í¿Í¤Ç¥¨¥ê¥ª¥Ã¥È¤È¥¨¥º¥é¡¦¥Ñ¥¦¥ó¥É¤Î¿òÇÒ¼Ô¤À¤Ã¤¿¤È¤¢¤ë¡£¸½ºßÃøºî¸¢ÌäÂ꤬¤Ê¤µ¤½¤¦¤Ê10»í¤Ð¤«¤ê¤¬PoemHunter.com ¤Ç¥¢¥¯¥»¥¹²Äǽ¤Ç¤¢¤ë¡£º£¤ä¸ÅŵŪ¤Ê¡Ö¥â¥À¥Ë¥º¥à¡×»þÂå¤ÎºîÉʤǤ¢¤í¤¦¤¬¡¢¤È¤Ë¤«¤¯20À¤µª¤ÎºîÉʤǤ¢¤ë¡£

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An Eternity

There is no dusk to be,
There is no dawn that was,
Only there's now, and now,
And the wind in the grass.

Days I remember of
Now in my heart, are now;
Days that I dream will bloom
White the peach bough.

Dying shall never be
Now in the windy grass;
Now under shaken leaves
Death never was.

Archibald MacLeish (1892–1982)


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