Only the desert has a fascination--
to ride alone--in the sun in the forever
unpossessed country--away from man.
-D. H. Lawrence, 1922,
The Letters of D. H. Lawrence
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Fear No More
Fear no more the lightning flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone; -William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Fear No More the Heat o' the Sun, from Cymbeline |
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Space in the Mirror
Somewhere--in desolate windswept space-- In Twilight land--in No-man's land-- Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand. -Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907), Identity, 1877 |
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Fantasies
A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. -John Milton (1608-1674), Comus |
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Mind's Ocean
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), The Garden |
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Dry Sea
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. -Robert Burns (1759-1796), A Red, Red Rose |
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Blazing Sea
Far different there from all that charmed before, The various terrors of that horrid shore,-- Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable days; -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Immortal Sea
Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. -William Wordsworth (1770-1850), Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood |
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Barren Splendor
While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Ethereal Waves
If aught of Oaten Stop, or Pastoral Song May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs and dying gales, O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove, O'erhand his wavy bed; -William Collins (1721-1759), Ode to Evening |
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Desert Shyness
Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That, hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. -Edmund Waller (1606-1687), Go, Lovely Rose |
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Thunder Clouds
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls. -Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), The Eagle |
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Hastening Waves
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards to contend. -William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Like as the Waves Make towards the Pebbled Shore, Sonnet LX |
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Parallel Worlds
As lines, so loves, oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), The Definition of Love |
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Desert Chariot
But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near, And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), To His Coy Mistress |
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Burning Spear
With an host of furious fancies Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander. -Anonymous (c.1400-c.1600), Tom o' Bedlam's Song |
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Tumultuous Grandeur
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Luxury
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress; Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed, In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, But verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Dark Ruin
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Last Lights
'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays; -John Donne (1572-1631), A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day |
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When Fair Things Are Fading Away
I'd be a butterfly; living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away! -Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839), I'd Be Butterfly |
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Frail Charms
But when those charms are past,--for charms are frail,-- When time advances, and when lovers fail, -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village |
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Lost Youth
But I am none; nor will my sun renew. You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun At this time to the Goat is run To fetch new lust, and give it you, Enjoy your summer all; -John Donne (1572-1631), A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day |