Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

" At last he seemed to awaken from a trance; he started and began hurrying with her, crowding by her, stumbling on ahead in the darkness, seeking the cave's unfathomed depths of darkness.

The unfathomed possibilities of gland therapy are still to be probed.

It happens that the sweet unfathomed sea Of seeming courtesy sometimes doth hide Offence to life and honour.

Why not try the sun instead, If nought in fate unfathomed thou hast seen?

It will bring him in contact with all the famous of letters and poetry; he will fight over again numberless quarrels of authors; he will soar in boundless Pindaric flights, or sink, sooth to say, in unfathomed deeps of bathos.

We would not have been greatly surprised had we met the shining feet of an angel among the white mushrooms upon the mountains, for we knew in those days immense despair, unfathomed loveevery eternal mood,but now the draw-net is about our feet.

There are, from some unfathomed reason, always texts found in the sacred writings which seem to conflict with both science and a profound theology; and the pedants, as well as the hypocrites and usurpers, have always shielded themselves behind these in their opposition to new opinions.

The imagination of a chivalrous and lively people is inflamed with the wildest expectations, for although he returned with but little of the expected wealth, he has pointed out a land rich in unfathomed mines.

We walk in mystery all the shining day Of light unfathomed that bestows our seeing, Unknown its source, unknown its ebb and flow: Thy living light's eternal fountain-play In ceaseless rainbow pulse bestows our being Its motions, whence or whither, who shall know?

The palsy of doubt and distraction hangs like some guilty weight of dark unfathomed remembrances upon my energies, when the signal is flying for action.

Now garrisoning some solitary peel-tower, now hiding in some unfathomed cavern, now issuing with uplifted lance from the haggs of some deep moss, Konrad engaged with ardour in every desperate foray, and his daring made him the idol of the wild spirits around him.

Here was a Mary unfathomed of all his hazards of study, undreamed of in all his flights of fancy.

Who has ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell?

Her spirit is the unfathomed lake Whose face the sudden tempests break To one tormented roar; But as the wild winds sink in peace All those disturbed waves decrease

Gentle and sensitive as Cadurcis ever appeared to those he loved, there was in his soul a deep and unfathomed well of passions that had been never stirred, and a bitter and mocking spirit in his brain, of which he was himself unconscious.

It was but a drop in the ocean, but it was all I could do to relieve that unfathomed misery.

What else remains, what great designs and unfathomed purposes, are yet reserved to grace this distant theatre, I pause not now to guess.

" Marcus Wilkeson's first thought was of the unfathomed murder.

It is one of those days when one feels most convinced of being immortalwhen the spirits of men stretch out longing arms toward the All-Good, the Altogether Beautifulwhen souls thirst for God, yearn most deeply for the well of his unfathomed truthwhen, to those who have lost, their dead come back in most pleasant, gentle guise.

Hast thou been stayed in thy fleeing Out of the body to God? "Thou that hast known Me in spaces Boundless, untraversed, unfathomed, Hast thou not known Me in love?

So in her arms did Mother Nature fold Her poet, whispering what of wild and sweet Into his earthe state-affairs of birds, The lore of dawn and sunset, what the wind Said in the tree-topsfine, unfathomed things Henceforth to turn to music in his brain: A various music, now like notes of flutes, And now like blasts of trumpets blown in wars.

Not in the lyre of Orpheus, Not in the songs of Musaeus, Lurked the unfathomed bewitchment Wrought by the wind in the grasses, 10 Held by the rote of the sea-surf, In early summer.

They now seem standing on the verge Of that unfathomed sea, Just waiting for the final surge That opes eternity.

And as the fleeting moments glide, They bear us on their noiseless tide, Like straws upon the river, Into that vast, unfathomed sea, Marked on the map "eternity," With neither bound nor shore.