Poems, Zväzok 2Edward Moxon & Company, Dover Street, 1868 - 879 strán (strany) |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 76.
Strana 5
... , To dance with death , to beat the ground , Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love , and boast , " Behold the man that loved and lost But all he was is overworn . " II . OLD Yew , which graspest at the stones.
... , To dance with death , to beat the ground , Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love , and boast , " Behold the man that loved and lost But all he was is overworn . " II . OLD Yew , which graspest at the stones.
Strana 9
... hour to please him well ; Who mused on all I had to tell , And something written , something thought ; Expecting still his advent home ; And ever met him on his way With wishes , thinking , here to - day , Or here to - morrow will he ...
... hour to please him well ; Who mused on all I had to tell , And something written , something thought ; Expecting still his advent home ; And ever met him on his way With wishes , thinking , here to - day , Or here to - morrow will he ...
Strana 14
... " Is this the end ? Is this the end ? " And forward dart again , and play About the prow , and back return To where the body sits , and learn , That I have been an hour away . XIII . TEARS of the widower , when he sees IN MEMORIAM .
... " Is this the end ? Is this the end ? " And forward dart again , and play About the prow , and back return To where the body sits , and learn , That I have been an hour away . XIII . TEARS of the widower , when he sees IN MEMORIAM .
Strana 21
... And melt the waxen hearts of men . " Another answers , " Let him be , He loves to make parade of pain , That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy . " A third is wroth , " Is this an hour IN MEMORIAM . 21.
... And melt the waxen hearts of men . " Another answers , " Let him be , He loves to make parade of pain , That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy . " A third is wroth , " Is this an hour IN MEMORIAM . 21.
Strana 22
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. A third is wroth , " Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song , When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power ? " A time to sicken and to swoon , When Science reaches ...
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. A third is wroth , " Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song , When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power ? " A time to sicken and to swoon , When Science reaches ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
answer'd arms Arthur ask'd Astolat Aylmer beat blood break breath Caerleon call'd Camelot child dark dark moor dead dear death dream Dubric earth Enid ev'n evermore eyes face fair Fair lord fame fancy father fear feet flower follow'd Gawain Geraint golden gone grief Guinevere half hall hand happy head hear heard heart Heaven horse hour jousts Katie King knew land Lavaine light Limours little birdie live look'd lord maid maiden martial music Maud Merlin morn moved never night noble o'er once passion peace poison'd Prince Queen Ring Ringlet rode rose seem'd shadow shame silent Sir Lancelot sleep smile song sorrow soul spake sparrow-hawk speak star stood sweet Table Round talk'd tears thee thine things thou thought thro tower true turn'd vext Vivien voice weep wild wood wrought
Populárne pasáže
Strana 73 - RING out wild bells to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light : The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Strana 5 - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Strana 181 - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!
Strana 43 - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Strana 3 - Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : Thou madest man, he knows not why, He thinks he was not made to die ; And thou hast made him : thou art just.
Strana 182 - Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro...
Strana 160 - I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
Strana 141 - She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near; And the white rose weeps, " She is late ; " The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers,
Strana 180 - O WELL for him whose will is strong ! He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong : For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, Who seems a promontory of rock, That, compass'd round with turbulent sound, In middle ocean meets the surging shock, Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd. II. But ill for him who, bettering not with time, Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will, And ever weaker grows thro...
Strana 140 - And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all ; From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That, whenever a March-wind sighs, He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise.