Dublin Translations Into Greek and Latin VerseRobert Yelverton Tyrrell Hodges Figgis, 1890 - 519 Seiten |
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Ergebnisse 1-5 von 21
Seite x
... roses , roses . LONGFELLOW 74 TENNYSON SHAKSPEARE 76 TENNYSON 78 TENNYSON 80 AYTOUN 82 SHAKSPEARE 84 MONTGOMERY 86 90 ... rose The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places . Meine Ruh ' ist hin Abhorred slave , Which any print of ...
... roses , roses . LONGFELLOW 74 TENNYSON SHAKSPEARE 76 TENNYSON 78 TENNYSON 80 AYTOUN 82 SHAKSPEARE 84 MONTGOMERY 86 90 ... rose The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places . Meine Ruh ' ist hin Abhorred slave , Which any print of ...
Seite xv
... rose a hill that none but man could climb Yes ! slain like Hector , smitten in the throat Love , what ail'd thee to leave life that was made lovely , we thought , with love . W. MELVILLE 506 SHAKSPEARE 508 • MILTON 510 TENNYSON 512 ...
... rose a hill that none but man could climb Yes ! slain like Hector , smitten in the throat Love , what ail'd thee to leave life that was made lovely , we thought , with love . W. MELVILLE 506 SHAKSPEARE 508 • MILTON 510 TENNYSON 512 ...
Seite 12
... rose , and round her neck Floated her hair , or seemed to float , in rest . She , leaning on a fragment twined with vine , Sang to the stillness , till the mountain - shade Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff . O mother Ida ...
... rose , and round her neck Floated her hair , or seemed to float , in rest . She , leaning on a fragment twined with vine , Sang to the stillness , till the mountain - shade Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff . O mother Ida ...
Seite 14
... Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed , A cloud that gathered shape : for it may be That while I speak of it , a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe . O mother Ida , many - fountain'd Ida , Dear mother Ida , hearken ...
... Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed , A cloud that gathered shape : for it may be That while I speak of it , a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe . O mother Ida , many - fountain'd Ida , Dear mother Ida , hearken ...
Seite 48
... rose A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars , And , as it were one voice , an agony Of lamentation , like a wind , that shrills All night in a waste land , where no one comes , Or hath come since the making of the world . TENNYSON ...
... rose A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars , And , as it were one voice , an agony Of lamentation , like a wind , that shrills All night in a waste land , where no one comes , Or hath come since the making of the world . TENNYSON ...
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Seite 182 - AND after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.
Seite 426 - The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn: Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
Seite 84 - gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature, Possess it merely.
Seite 94 - The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks ; The long day wanes ; the slow moon climbs ; the deep Moans round with many voices.
Seite 202 - Thy bountiful care, what tongue can recite? It breathes in the air, it shines in the light, It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, And sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.
Seite 498 - Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death.
Seite 504 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Seite 46 - And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard, Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, 'Quick, quick ! I fear it is too late, and I shall die.
Seite 250 - And even the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped — what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Seite 390 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Eight up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.