The Atlantic Monthly, Band 26Atlantic Monthly Company, 1870 |
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Seite 245
... His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth - moving jest , Which his fair tongue , conceit's expositor , Delivers in such åpt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at ...
... His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth - moving jest , Which his fair tongue , conceit's expositor , Delivers in such åpt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at ...
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Beliebte Passagen
Seite 243 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Seite 566 - Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy ; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.
Seite 135 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.
Seite 560 - Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
Seite 259 - Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss Though winning near the goal— yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Seite 227 - Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho...
Seite 113 - THE blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly worn; Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn.
Seite 559 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Seite 542 - Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?
Seite 559 - Doubt thou the stars are fire ; Doubt that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt I love.
Bibliografische Informationen
| Titel | The Atlantic Monthly, Band 26 The Atlantic Monthly |
| Mitwirkende Personen | John Davis Batchelder Collection (Library of Congress) |
| Verlag | Atlantic Monthly Company, 1870 |
| Original von | Harvard University |
| Digitalisiert | 14. März 2007 |
| Zitat exportieren | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |