In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing, as they shine: 'The hand that made us is divine.'
Onlybut this is rare When a beloved hand is laid in ours, When, jaded with the rush and glare Of the interminable hours, Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear, When our world-deafened ear Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
Good music isthat whichpenetratesthe ear with facility and quits the memory with difficulty. Magical music never leaves the memory.
I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee.Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
Hethat plantedthe ear, shall henot hear? hethat formed the eye, shall he not see?
But God has a few of us to whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear! Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear.
He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce, And loved to stop beside the opening sluice; Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound, Ran with a dull, unvaried, sad'ning sound; Where all presented to the eye or ear, Oppressed the soul! with misery, grief, and fear.
You that love England, who have an ear for her music, The slow movement of clouds in benediction, Clear arias of light thrilling over her uplands, Over the chords of summer sustained peacefully.
An horrid stillness first invades the ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. See Marvell 556:62.
It will be generally admitted that Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man.
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood isrunning money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Every night, whisper 'Peace' in your husband's ear.
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorled ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
I have no ear.
A pistol let off at the ear; not a feather to tickle the intellect.
Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.
He is young and perhaps he is right. Maybe my ear is not sensitive enough.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul. Under the ribs of Death.
Him there they found Paradise Lost Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve.
One disadvantage of being a hog is that at any moment some blundering fool may try to make a silk purse out of your wife's ear.
If I be evil intreated, or sent away with a flea in mine ear, let him look that Iwill rail onhimsoundly; nor foranhour or a day, whiles the injury is fresh in my memory; but in some elaborate polished poem, which I will leave to the world when I am dead, to be a living image to all ages of his beggarly parsimony and ignoble illiberality.
He that is a traveller must have the back of an ass to bear all, atonguelikethetail ofa dog toflatterall, themouthof a hog to eat all what is set before him, the ear of a merchant to hear all and say nothing; and if this be not the highest step of thraldom, there is no liberty or freedom.
How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear!
The whole wide world is a cathedral; I stand inside, the air is calm, And from afar at times there reaches My ear the echo of a psalm.
Christ for myguardianship today: against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding, that there may come to me a multitude of rewards; Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ over me, Christ to right of me, Christ to left of me, Christ in lying down, Christ in sitting, Christ in rising up, Christ in the heart of every person who may thinkof me, Christ in the mouth of every person who may speak of me, Christ in every eye, which may look on me! Christ in every ear, which may hear me!
Another age shall see the golden ear Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre, Deep harvests bury all his pride has planned, And laughing Ceres re-assume the land.
Books and the Man I sing, the first who brings The Smithfield Muses to the Ear of Kings. Say great Patricians! (since your selves inspire These wond'rous works; so Jove and Fate require) Say from what cause, in vain decry'd and curst, Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first?
In Israel it's enough to liveyou don't have to do anything else and you go to bed exhausted. Have you ever noticed that Jews shout? Even one ear is more than you need.
Hansard is history's ear, already listening.
The Harper smiled, well pleased; for ne'er Was flattery lost on poet's ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile.
Look not thou on beauty's charming, Sit thou still when kings are arming. Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens, Stop thine ear against the singer, From the red gold keep thy finger, Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
McLuhan put a telescope to his ear; What a lovely smell, he said, we have here.
Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
Art should be independent of all clap-trapshould stand alone, and appeal totheartisticsense ofeye orear, without confounding this with emotions entirely foreign to it, as devotion, pity, love, patriotism and the like. All these have no kind of concern with it; and that is why I insist on calling my works 'arrangements'and 'harmonies'.
We milk the cow of the world, and as we do We whisper in her ear,'You are not true.'
The less seen, the more heard. The eye is the enemy of the ear in real drama.
For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.
Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,both what they half create And what perceive.
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