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There is a hill beside the silver Thames, Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems, Steeply the thickets to his floods decline.

Robert Bridges

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Robert Bridges
Age: 85 †
Born: 1844
Born: October 23
Died: 1930
Died: April 21
Poet
Writer
Kent
England
Robert Seymour Bridges
Robert S. Bridges
Brilliant
Pine
Odorous
Thousand
Gems
Beech
Hill
Birch
Beside
Underfoot
Flood
Thickets
Decline
Thames
Silver
Floods
Hills
Shady

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I have loved flowers that fade,Within whose magic tentsRich hues have marriage madeWith sweet unmemoried scents:A honeymoon delight,A joy of love at sight,That ages in an hourMy song be like a flower!
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The name of happiness is but a wider termfor the unalloy'd conditions of the Pleasur of Life,attendant on all function, and not to be deny'dto th' soul, unless forsooth in our thought of naturespiritual is by definition unnatural.
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Beauty is the highest of all these occult influences, the quality of appearances that thru' the sense wakeneth spiritual emotion in the mind of man.
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When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.
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Man's Reason is in such deep insolvency to sense,that tho' she guide his highest flight heav'nward, and teach himdignity morals manners and human comfort,she can delicatly and dangerously bedizenthe rioting joys that fringe the sad pathways of Hell.
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The hill pines were sighing, O'ercast and chill was the day A mist in the valley lying Blotted the pleasant May.
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Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation.
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Nature hav no music nor would ther be for theeany better melody in the April woods at dawnthan what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying awakeo'night in his comfortless attic, might perchancebe aware of, when the rats run amok in his thatch?
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Since to be loved endures, To love is wise.
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Our stability is but balance, and conduct lies In masterful administration of the unforseen.
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Spring goeth all in white, / Crowned with milk-white may: / In fleecy flocks of light / O'er heaven the white clouds stray.
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So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.
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Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.
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Poetry's magic lies in the imagery which satifies even without interpretation..it is accepted as easily as it was created.
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My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.
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I love all beauteous things, I seek and adore them
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The south-wind strengthens to a gale, / Across the moon the clouds fly fast, / The house is smitten as with a flail, / The chimney shudders to the blast.
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O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.
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Were I a cloud I'd gather My skirts up in the air, And fly I well know whither, And rest I well know where.
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When Death to either shall come - I pray it be first to me.
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