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Updated: May 15, 2025
What has taught the poet, what has taught man to disavow such a Divinity? A God like some imperious King, Wroth, were his realm not duly awed; A God for ever hearkening Unto his self-commanded laud; A God for ever jealous grown Of carven wood and graven stone.
Pitt was slender, boyish, precise, punctilious in attire, his native composure only occasionally lightened by a flash of humor or sweetened by a show of playfulness, old beyond his years and young to the end of his short life, sternly self-restrained and self-commanded, gracious in a kind of melancholy, unconscious charm, a curiously unadorned, uncolored personality, that attracted where it did attract with a magnetism that was perhaps all the more potent for being somewhat difficult to explain.
Lucy was usually so calm and self-commanded, that such an ebullition of feeling from her astonished and affected James Meadows more than any words, however tender.
The living Heaven thy prayers respect, House at once and architect, Quarrying man's rejected hours, Builds therewith eternal towers; Sole and self-commanded works, Fears not undermining days, Grows by decays, And, by the famous might that lurks In reaction and recoil, Makes flame to freeze, and ice to boil; Forging, through swart arms of Offence, The silver seat of Innocence.
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