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Слушать(AI)To A Snowflake
What heart could have thought you? — Past our devisal (O filigree petal!) Fashioned so purely,
Fragilely, surely,
From what Paradisal Imagineless metal,
Too costly for cost?
Who hammered you, wrought you,
From argentine vapor? — "God was my shaper.
Passing surmisal,
He hammered,
He wrought me,
From curled silver vapor,
To lust of His mind — Thou could'st not have thought me!
So purely, so palely,
Tinily, surely,
Mightily, frailly,
Insculped and embossed,
With His hammer of wind,
And His graver of frost."
Francis Thompson
Francis Thompson (16 December 1859 – 13 November 1907) was an English poet and Catholic mystic. At the behest of his father, a doctor, he entere
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'My brother ' spake she to the sun; The kindred kisses of the Were hers; her feet were set upon The moon If slumber solved the
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The breaths of kissing night and day Were mingled in the eastern Heaven, Throbbing with unheard melody, Shook Lyra all its star-cloud seven When dusk shrank cold, and light trod shy,
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The heart you hold too small and local thing, Such spacious terms of edifice to bear And yet, since Poesy first shook out her wing, The mighty Love has been impalaced there;
To A Poet Breaking Silence
Too wearily had we and Been left to look and left to long, Yea, song and we to long and look, Since thine acquainted feet