Shakespeare's SonnetsHarper & Brothers, 1893 - 187 strán (strany) |
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Strana 12
... to whom replies Mr. Swinburne , " No whit the less like Shakespeare , but undoubtedly the less like Browning . " Some of deep as that of the secrets of Nature , never 12 SHAKESPEare's sonNETS . CRITICAL COMMENTS ON THE SONNETS.
... to whom replies Mr. Swinburne , " No whit the less like Shakespeare , but undoubtedly the less like Browning . " Some of deep as that of the secrets of Nature , never 12 SHAKESPEare's sonNETS . CRITICAL COMMENTS ON THE SONNETS.
Strana 13
William Shakespeare William James Rolfe. deep as that of the secrets of Nature , never once knew in- terruption . The moment , however , we regard the Sonnets as autobiographical , we find ourselves in the presence of doubts and ...
William Shakespeare William James Rolfe. deep as that of the secrets of Nature , never once knew in- terruption . The moment , however , we regard the Sonnets as autobiographical , we find ourselves in the presence of doubts and ...
Strana 18
... never seen her , " sighs out Antony , and the shrewd onlooker Enobarbus replies , " O , sir , you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work ; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel . " 66 Shakspere ...
... never seen her , " sighs out Antony , and the shrewd onlooker Enobarbus replies , " O , sir , you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work ; which not to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel . " 66 Shakspere ...
Strana 22
... never discover the name of that woman who for a season could sound , as no one else , the instrument in Shak- spere's heart from the lowest note to the top of the compass . To the eyes of no diver among the wrecks of time will that ...
... never discover the name of that woman who for a season could sound , as no one else , the instrument in Shak- spere's heart from the lowest note to the top of the compass . To the eyes of no diver among the wrecks of time will that ...
Strana 33
... never know it ( 92 ) ; so his friend , fair in seeming , false within , would be like Eve's apple ( 93 ) ; it is to such self - contained , passionless persons that nature intrusts her rarest gifts of grace and beauty ; yet vicious self ...
... never know it ( 92 ) ; so his friend , fair in seeming , false within , would be like Eve's apple ( 93 ) ; it is to such self - contained , passionless persons that nature intrusts her rarest gifts of grace and beauty ; yet vicious self ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
Accented Astrophel and Stella beauty beauty's begetter Capell corrected by Malone dark dead dear death dedication doth Dowden asks Dowden compares Dowden remarks face fair false faults fear gentle Gentlemen of Verona Gildon give grace hast hate hath heaven Herbert honour Lettsom live look love's Lover's Complaint Macb Malone compares Malone quotes marjoram Mary Fitton mayst meaning Measure for Measure mistress Muse night Noble Kinsmen painted Palgrave passion Passionate Pilgrim pity poems poet praise proud quarto rhyme Rich rival poet Schmidt seems sense Sewell Shak Shakespeare Shakspere Shakspere's friend Shakspere's love shame Sonn Sonnet 13 Sonnet 20 Sonnets soul spere's spirit suggests summer tell thee thine eyes things thou art thou dost thought thy love thy sweet thyself Time's tongue true truth unkind Venus and Adonis verse Walker Will's wilt word worth youth
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Strana 56 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Strana 82 - That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Strana 178 - When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutor'd youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue; On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
Strana 61 - Do in consent shake hands to torture me ; The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him thou art bright And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So flatter I the swart-complexion'cl night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
Strana 96 - Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
Strana 48 - Proving his beauty by succession thine! This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Strana 111 - To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more blest than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
Strana 60 - Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide...
Strana 74 - The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses. Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; Die to themselves.
Strana 83 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.