PoemsJohn Camden Hotten, Piccadilly, 1868 - Всего страниц: 403 |
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Стр. 29
... sleeping rooms of the house ; perceives that it waits a little while in the door , that it was fittest for its days , that its action has descended to the stalwart and well- shaped heir who approaches , and that he shall be fittest for ...
... sleeping rooms of the house ; perceives that it waits a little while in the door , that it was fittest for its days , that its action has descended to the stalwart and well- shaped heir who approaches , and that he shall be fittest for ...
Стр. 32
... sleep - walking of the middle ages ! the United States leaves the wealth and The pride of finesse of the cities , and all returns of commerce and agriculture , and all the magnitude of geography or shows of exterior victory , to enjoy ...
... sleep - walking of the middle ages ! the United States leaves the wealth and The pride of finesse of the cities , and all returns of commerce and agriculture , and all the magnitude of geography or shows of exterior victory , to enjoy ...
Стр. 43
... sleep with the twain . The greatest poet has lain close betwixt both , and they are vital in his style and thoughts . The art of art , the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters , is simplicity . Nothing is better ...
... sleep with the twain . The greatest poet has lain close betwixt both , and they are vital in his style and thoughts . The art of art , the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters , is simplicity . Nothing is better ...
Стр. 54
... sleep , but has higher notions of prudence than to think he gives much when he gives a few slight attentions at the latch of the gate . The premises of the prudence of life are not the hospitality of it , or the ripeness and harvest of ...
... sleep , but has higher notions of prudence than to think he gives much when he gives a few slight attentions at the latch of the gate . The premises of the prudence of life are not the hospitality of it , or the ripeness and harvest of ...
Стр. 86
... sleep no more , but arise ; You oceans that have been calm within me ! how I feel you , fathomless , stirring , preparing unprecedented waves and storms . I9 . See ! steamers steaming through my poems ! See in my poems immigrants ...
... sleep no more , but arise ; You oceans that have been calm within me ! how I feel you , fathomless , stirring , preparing unprecedented waves and storms . I9 . See ! steamers steaming through my poems ! See in my poems immigrants ...
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Algernon Charles Swinburne American amid appears arms Artemus Ward beauty behold blood body brother chant Chastelard cloth coloured comrades crowd Crown 8vo curious dead dear death Democracy divine dream drums earth edition electric telegraph English eternal eyes face Fcap forms GEORGE CRUIKSHANK give greatest poet GUSTAVE DORÉ hand hear John Camden Hotten lands Leaves of Grass Libertad liberty little and large living look lovers Manhattan Mannahatta master morocco mother nations never night pass passion perfect persons Pioneers poems poet poetic poetry present race rest rich rise rivers sail shapes arise ships shores silent sing skald sleep soldiers song soul spirit stand stars strong sweet Swinburne Swinburne's things thought to-day toned paper vast voice volume wait walk Walt Whitman whoever WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI wind woman women woods words young
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Стр. 308 - 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. Praised be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love — but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.
Стр. 311 - O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells: Rise up! for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead.
Стр. 311 - O Captain! My Captain! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
Стр. 312 - My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will...
Стр. 234 - RECONCILIATION WORD over all, beautiful as the sky, Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin — I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Стр. 309 - Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach strong...
Стр. 239 - There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
Стр. 302 - With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang, Here, coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac. (Nor for you, for one alone, Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death. All over bouquets of roses...
Стр. 241 - The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and how, Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks...
Стр. 300 - In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die...