<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416303" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Noontide Retreat of Summer As a Haunt for Meditation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,<br>A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk,<br>Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel<br>A sacred terror, a severe delight,<br>Creep through my mortal frame; and thus, methinks,<br>A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear<br>Of fancy strikes: - 'Be not of us afraid,<br>Poor kindred man! thy fellow-creatures, we<br>From the same Parent-power our beings drew,<br>The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit.<br>Once, some of us, like thee, through stormy life<br>Toil'd, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain<br>This holy calm, this harmony of mind,<br>Where purity and peace immingle charms.<br>Then fear not us; but with responsive song,<br>Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd<br>By noisy folly and discordant vice,<br>Of nature sing with us, and nature's God.<br>Here frequent, at the visionary hour,<br>When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon,<br>Angelic harps are in full concert heard,<br>And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill,<br>The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade:<br>A privilege bestow'd by us alone,<br>On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear<br>Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416303" data-title="Noontide Retreat of Summer As a Haunt for Meditation de James Thomson" data-description="Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk, Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel A sacred terror, a severe delight, Creep through my mortal frame; and thus, methinks, A voice, than human more, th' abs..."></div> </div> </div>

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