The Late English PoetsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce and Huntington, 1865 - 539 |
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Strona 15
... lips foamed ; and twice his voice Was choked with rage : at last these words broke way : " Girl ! nimble with thy feet , not with thy hands ! Curled minion , dancer , coiner of sweet words ! Fight ; let me hear thy hateful voice no more ...
... lips foamed ; and twice his voice Was choked with rage : at last these words broke way : " Girl ! nimble with thy feet , not with thy hands ! Curled minion , dancer , coiner of sweet words ! Fight ; let me hear thy hateful voice no more ...
Strona 21
... lips of dying men , And Falsehood , while I lived , was far from mine . I tell thee , pricked upon this arm I bear That seal which Rustum to my mother gave , That she might prick it on the babe she bore . ” He spoke and all the blood ...
... lips of dying men , And Falsehood , while I lived , was far from mine . I tell thee , pricked upon this arm I bear That seal which Rustum to my mother gave , That she might prick it on the babe she bore . ” He spoke and all the blood ...
Strona 23
... lips , And with fond , faltering fingers stroked his cheeks , Trying to call him back to life : and life Came back to Rustum , and he oped his eyes , And they stood wide with horror ; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay ...
... lips , And with fond , faltering fingers stroked his cheeks , Trying to call him back to life : and life Came back to Rustum , and he oped his eyes , And they stood wide with horror ; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay ...
Strona 33
... lips blanched like mine ? Child , ' tis no water this , ' tis poisoned wine ! Iseult ! .... * * * * Ah , sweet angels , let him dream ! Keep his eyelids ! let him seem Not this fever - wasted wight Thinned and paled before his time ...
... lips blanched like mine ? Child , ' tis no water this , ' tis poisoned wine ! Iseult ! .... * * * * Ah , sweet angels , let him dream ! Keep his eyelids ! let him seem Not this fever - wasted wight Thinned and paled before his time ...
Strona 41
... lips the air Scarcely moves the coverlet . One little wandering arm is thrown At random on the counterpane , And often the fingers close in haste As if their baby owner chased The butterflies again . This stir they have and this alone ...
... lips the air Scarcely moves the coverlet . One little wandering arm is thrown At random on the counterpane , And often the fingers close in haste As if their baby owner chased The butterflies again . This stir they have and this alone ...
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Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
Afrasiab arms art thou ATALANTA Baltic Sea beauty bells beneath blood blow blue Bouillabaisse boys breast breath bright Bright Eyes Brittany brow Calydon castellan Cepheus cheek cold dark dead dear death deep dream drum earth eyes face fair fair lord fear feet fight flowers gazed gold golden grave gray green grew hair hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Iseult King kiss Lamech laughed light lips look Lord MELEAGER merry moan moon mother Mysie neath never night o'er Oxus pain pale Persian pray queen rain rose round Rustum sand Seistan shadow shine sing sleep smile snow Sohrab song sorrow soul stars stood sweet Tartar tears thee thine things thou art thou hast thought Tristram Twas Twill voice waves weary weeping wild Willie wind young
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 167 - Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Strona 58 - Call once yet. In a voice that she will know: "Margaret ! Margaret!" Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain. Surely she will come again. Call her once, and come away; This way, this way ! "Mother dear, we cannot stay. The wild white horses foam and fret.
Strona 513 - WHEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Strona 514 - And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins. The full streams feed on flower of rushes, Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.
Strona 58 - The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep ; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, Dry their mail and bask in the brine; Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye?
Strona 297 - Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep; And good-by to the bar and its moaning.
Strona 61 - Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar.
Strona 318 - Bouillabaisse. Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, In this same place — but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me — There's no one now to share my cup. I drink it as the Fates ordain it. Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes : Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times.
Strona 514 - Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran ; Pleasure, with pain for leaven ; Summer, with flowers that fell ; Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell...
Strona 435 - With that he cried and beat his breast; For, lo! along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared his crest, And uppe the Lindis raging sped.