The Princess: A MedleyEdward Moxon, 1854 - Всего страниц: 183 |
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Стр. 24
... Close at the boundary of the liberties ; There , enter'd an old hostel , call'd mine host To council , plied him with his richest wines , And show'd the late - writ letters of the king . He with a long low sibilation , stared As blank ...
... Close at the boundary of the liberties ; There , enter'd an old hostel , call'd mine host To council , plied him with his richest wines , And show'd the late - writ letters of the king . He with a long low sibilation , stared As blank ...
Стр. 31
... close upon the Sun , Than our man's earth ; such eyes were in her head , And so much grace and power , breathing down From over her arch'd brows , with every turn Lived thro ' her to the tips of her long hands , And to her feet . She ...
... close upon the Sun , Than our man's earth ; such eyes were in her head , And so much grace and power , breathing down From over her arch'd brows , with every turn Lived thro ' her to the tips of her long hands , And to her feet . She ...
Стр. 59
... close with Cyril's random wish : Not like your Princess cramm'd with erring pride , Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow . ' ' The crane , ' I said , ' may chatter of the crane , The dove may murmur of the dove , but I An eagle ...
... close with Cyril's random wish : Not like your Princess cramm'd with erring pride , Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow . ' ' The crane , ' I said , ' may chatter of the crane , The dove may murmur of the dove , but I An eagle ...
Стр. 88
... the single jewel on her brow Burn like the mystic fire on a mast - head , Prophet of storm : a handmaid on each side Bow'd toward her , combing out her long black hair Damp from the river ; and close behind her stood 888 THE PRINCESS ;
... the single jewel on her brow Burn like the mystic fire on a mast - head , Prophet of storm : a handmaid on each side Bow'd toward her , combing out her long black hair Damp from the river ; and close behind her stood 888 THE PRINCESS ;
Стр. 89
A Medley Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Damp from the river ; and close behind her stood Eight daughters of the plough , stronger than men , Huge women blowzed with health , and wind , and rain , And labour . Each was like a Druid rock ...
A Medley Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Damp from the river ; and close behind her stood Eight daughters of the plough , stronger than men , Huge women blowzed with health , and wind , and rain , And labour . Each was like a Druid rock ...
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ALEXANDER DYCE answer'd Arac arms ask'd babe betwixt Blow boys brows call'd child CHRISTOPHER WORDSWORTH cloth COLERIDGE'S cried Cyril dark daughter dead dear death DOVER STREET dream dropt dying EDITION EDWARD MOXON enemies have fall'n enter'd eyes face fair father fight Florian flying follow'd foolscap 8vo gain'd girl hall hand head hear heard heart Heaven HISTORY OF EGYPT king kiss'd knew Lady Blanche Lady Psyche land light Lilia lips lives look'd maiden maids Melissa morning mother moved night noble o'er ourselves peace POEMS POETICAL Portrait and Vignette price 16s price 68 Prince Princess Princess Ida Psyche's rapt rode roll'd rose sang seem'd shadow shame shook song spake speak spoke star stept stood strange sweet talk'd thee THOMAS CAMPBELL thou thought thro turn'd vext voice volume 8vo wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Winter's tale woman women
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Стр. 66 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Стр. 160 - She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words; And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Sit side by side, full-summ'd in all their powers, Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, Self-reverent each and reverencing each, Distinct in individualities, But like each other ev'n as those who love. Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste...
Стр. 67 - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Стр. 162 - And girdled her with music. Happy he With such a mother ! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Стр. 64 - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Стр. 105 - And roughly spake My father : ' Tut, you know them not, the girls. Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think That idiot legend credible. Look you, sir ! Man is the hunter; woman is his game. The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, We hunt them for the beauty of their skins ; They love us for it, and we ride them down.
Стр. 66 - TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Стр. 160 - Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words...
Стр. 157 - And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, Or red with spirted purple of the vats, Or foxlike in the vine ; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the silver horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : But follow; let the torrent dance...
Стр. 64 - O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul. And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.