Poems of the English RaceRaymond Macdonald Alden C. Scribner's Sons, 1921 - Всего страниц: 410 |
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Стр. 26
... never more shall join its parted hair ; 130 Which never more its honours shall re- new , Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew ) That while my nostrils draw the vital air , This hand , which won it , shall forever wear . " He ...
... never more shall join its parted hair ; 130 Which never more its honours shall re- new , Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew ) That while my nostrils draw the vital air , This hand , which won it , shall forever wear . " He ...
Стр. 43
... never more be seen . " To - night will be a stormy night- You to the town must go ; And take a lantern , Child , to light Your mother through the snow . ” " That , Father ! will I gladly do : ' Tis scarcely afternoon- The minster ...
... never more be seen . " To - night will be a stormy night- You to the town must go ; And take a lantern , Child , to light Your mother through the snow . ” " That , Father ! will I gladly do : ' Tis scarcely afternoon- The minster ...
Стр. 89
... nevermore IIO Shalt thou behold me or by day or night ! Me , who would fain have blessed thee with a love More ripe and bounteous than ever yet Filled up with nectar any mortal heart : But thou didst scorn my humble mes- senger , And ...
... nevermore IIO Shalt thou behold me or by day or night ! Me , who would fain have blessed thee with a love More ripe and bounteous than ever yet Filled up with nectar any mortal heart : But thou didst scorn my humble mes- senger , And ...
Стр. 101
... Nevermore . " Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly , Though its answer little meaning , little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird ...
... Nevermore . " Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly , Though its answer little meaning , little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird ...
Стр. 102
... nevermore ! Then , methought , the air grew denser , perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor . " Wretch ! " I cried , " thy God hath lent thee , -by these angels he hath sent thee ...
... nevermore ! Then , methought , the air grew denser , perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor . " Wretch ! " I cried , " thy God hath lent thee , -by these angels he hath sent thee ...
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ALFRED TENNYSON arms Arthur beneath bird blood breath Camelot cloud cried damsel dark dead dear death door doth dream drew earth eyes face fair Fair lord father fear fell fight Gareth Gawain glory gold hair hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven horse Judas Iscariot King King Arthur knave lady Lady of Shalott lance land Lars Porsena laughed Lavaine light live looked Lord maid morn never Nevermore night o'er once Oxus passed Pheidippides poem pray Prester John Queen Quoth ride rode rose round Rustum sail Seistan shame shield ship sing Sir Kay Sir Lancelot smile Sohrab sound spake spear spoke star stood sweet sword thee thine thing thou art thou hast thought thro turned Twas unto voice wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind word youth ΙΟ
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Стр. 224 - his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat— Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, 10 Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets— Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here
Стр. 226 - Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend; 20 —This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all. (1614)
Стр. 267 - Much have I travel'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been told That deep-browed 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
Стр. 245 - lowly bed. 20 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe 1 has broke; How jocund
Стр. 244 - to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
Стр. 358 - though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake. No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time Greet the unseen with a cheer! Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, "Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,—fight on, fare ever There as here!
Стр. 282 - us We can make our lives sublime, Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. (1838) THE
Стр. 269 - shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart: He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30
Стр. 56 - shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Стр. 269 - to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death. Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80