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appeared beautiful become believe body brought called cause character Church course death doubt early earth effect English entered existence expression eyes fact father feeling feet fire France French give given hand happy head heart hope hour human idea interest Italy kind King labor Lady land less letter light living look Lord manner matter means ment miles mind nature never night object once Paris passed period Persian person political poor present Prince Queen question received regard remained Saint-Simon seems soon speak spirit stand things thou thought tion true truth turn whole writing young
Seite 411 - 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 ! Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu...
Seite 410 - Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day ; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
Seite 518 - My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy ? art cold ? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow ? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Seite 411 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 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 410 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon ; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint : She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven : Porphyro grew faint : She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Seite 394 - If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.— That strain again;— it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.— Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Seite 410 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Seite 407 - Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Seite 519 - Lear. Be your tears wet ? yes, faith. I pray, weep not : If you have poison for me I will drink it. I know you do not love me ; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : You have some cause, they have not. Cor. No cause, no cause.