Essays and Studies

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Chatto and Windus, 1888 - 380 стор.
 

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Сторінка 291 - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love; for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this?
Сторінка 18 - And he spread it before me ; and it was written within and without : and there was written therein lamentations, and mourning, and woe.
Сторінка 119 - God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before. There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the...
Сторінка 179 - Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield; but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.
Сторінка 260 - No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own. I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown, Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
Сторінка 135 - Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play ; Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away; Allows the proudly-riding and the foundering bark.
Сторінка 133 - Once read thy own breast right, And thou hast done with fears! Man gets no other light, Search he a thousand years. Sink in thyself! there ask what ails thee, at that shrine!
Сторінка 22 - O ship continue on ! Sure as the ship of all, the Earth itself, Product of deathly fire and turbulent chaos, Forth from its spasms of fury and its poisons, Issuing at last in perfect power and beauty...
Сторінка 137 - And yet, for those who know Themselves, who wisely take Their way through life, and bow To what they cannot break, Why should I say that life need yield but moderate bliss...
Сторінка 69 - ... We hear the flood-tides seek the sea. And deep in both our hearts they rouse One wail for thee and me. A little while a little love May yet be ours who have not said The word it makes our eyes afraid To know that each is thinking of. Not yet the end: be our lips dumb In smiles a little season yet: I'll tell thee, when the end is come, How we may best forget.

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