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Strona 142 - The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid, the night is still; A single church below the hill Is pealing, folded in the mist. A single peal of bells below, That wakens at this hour of rest A single murmur in the breast, That these are not the bells I know. Like strangers...
Strona 143 - Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad...
Strona 142 - The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound: Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.
Strona 48 - Excelsior! ,O stay,' the maiden said, ,and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!' A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered with a sigh, Excelsior! ,Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!
Strona 133 - Was war ein Gott, der nur von außen stieße, Im Kreis das All am Finger laufen ließe! Ihm ziemt's, die Welt im Innern zu bewegen, Natur in Sich, Sich in Natur zu hegen, So daß, was in Ihm lebt und webt und ist, Nie Seine Kraft, nie Seinen Geist vermißt.
Strona 143 - My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said, She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Strona 143 - A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours, Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers : To himself he talks ; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks ; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i
Strona 262 - Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard Descend, and sit on each important card: First Ariel perch'd upon a Matadore, Then each according to the rank they bore; For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place.
Strona 302 - But when wit is combined with sense and information ; -when it is softened by benevolence, and restrained by strong principle ; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and despise it, who can be witty, and something much better than witty, who loves honour, justice, decency, good-nature, morality, and religion ten thousand times better than wit ; wit is then a beautiful and delightful part of our nature.