Yet spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee, But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee A name which before thee no mortal hath won.
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The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars.
This is the voice of high midsummer's heat. The rasping vibrant clamour soars and shrills O'er all the meadowy range of shadeless hills, As if a host of giant cicadae beat The cymbals of their wings with tireless feet, Or brazen grasshoppers with triumphing note From the long swath proclaimed the fate that smote The clover and timothy-tops and meadowsweet.
Sir Charles George Douglas RobertsNo bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
william blakeYet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,But like thine own eagle that soars to the sunThou springest from bondage and leavest behind theeA name which before thee no mortal hath won.Tho' nations may combat, and war's thunders rattle,No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain:Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,No sound can awake thee to glory again.
lyman heathNo more harmful nonsense exists than [the] common supposition that deepest insight into great questions about the meaning of life or the structure of reality emerges most readily when a free, undisciplined, and uncluttered (read, rather, ignorant and uneducated) mind soars above mere earthly knowledge and concern.
stephen jay gouldEach loss has its compensation There is healing for every pain, But the bird with a broken pinion Never soars so high again.
The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars.
In you are sent The types of Truths whose life is THE TO COME; In you soars up the Adam from the fall; In you the FUTURE as the PAST is given Ev'n in our death ye bid us hail our birth; Unfold these pages, and behold the Heaven, Without one grave-stone left upon the Earth.
LyttonBut first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation.
john miltonOvid 's a rake, as half his verses show him, Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample, Catullus scarcely has a decent poem, I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample; But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with "Formosum Pastor Corydon."
lord byronTill o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, Immortal NATURE lifts her changeful form: Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, And soars and shines, another and the same.
erasmus darwin