Poetical WorksHoughton Mifflin, 1886 |
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Сторінка 109
... Prec . How slowly through the lilac - scented air Descends the tranquil moon ! Like thistle - down The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky ; And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade The nightingales breathe out their souls in ...
... Prec . How slowly through the lilac - scented air Descends the tranquil moon ! Like thistle - down The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky ; And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade The nightingales breathe out their souls in ...
Сторінка 110
... Prec . I am so frightened ! ' Tis for thee I tremble ! I hate to have thee climb that wall by night ! Did no one see thee ? Vict . None , my love , but thou . Prec . ' T is very dangerous ; and when 110 THE SPANISH STUDENT.
... Prec . I am so frightened ! ' Tis for thee I tremble ! I hate to have thee climb that wall by night ! Did no one see thee ? Vict . None , my love , but thou . Prec . ' T is very dangerous ; and when 110 THE SPANISH STUDENT.
Сторінка 111
... Prec . Am I not always fair ? Vict . Ay , and so fair That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee , And wish that they were blind . Prec . I heed them not ; When thou art present , I see none but thee ! Vict . There's nothing fair nor ...
... Prec . Am I not always fair ? Vict . Ay , and so fair That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee , And wish that they were blind . Prec . I heed them not ; When thou art present , I see none but thee ! Vict . There's nothing fair nor ...
Сторінка 112
... Prec . In good sooth , I dance with learned doctors of the schools To - morrow morning . Vict . And with whom , I pray ? Prec . A grave and reverend Cardinal , and his Grace The Archbishop of Toledo . Vict . Is this ? What mad jest Prec ...
... Prec . In good sooth , I dance with learned doctors of the schools To - morrow morning . Vict . And with whom , I pray ? Prec . A grave and reverend Cardinal , and his Grace The Archbishop of Toledo . Vict . Is this ? What mad jest Prec ...
Сторінка 113
... Prec . When first we met ? Vict . Dost thou remember It was at Córdova , In the cathedral garden . Thou wast sitting Under the orange trees , beside a fountain . Prec . ' T was Easter Sunday . The full - blos- somed trees Filled all the ...
... Prec . When first we met ? Vict . Dost thou remember It was at Córdova , In the cathedral garden . Thou wast sitting Under the orange trees , beside a fountain . Prec . ' T was Easter Sunday . The full - blos- somed trees Filled all the ...
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Загальні терміни та фрази
Alcalá ancient autumn ballad Bart beautiful belfry Belfry of Bruges beneath blue breath bright Bruges burning Chispa clouds Count of Lara Cruz CRUZADO dance dark dead death deep diary Don Carlos dreams earth Euroclydon Excelsior Exeunt eyes fair fear flowers forever Forever never Ghent gleam gold golden Graham's Magazine green Guy de Dampierre Gypsy hand hast hear heard heart heaven HYPOLITO leaves light Line lips Longfellow look loud midnight Minnesinger Monk moon morning mountain never night Nuremberg o'er ocean passed poem poet Pray prayer Prec Preciosa ring rise river round sail Saint sang SCENE shadows ship silent silver singing Skeleton in Armor sleep soft song soul sound Spanish speak stands stanza star sweet tell thee thou art thought Timoneda tower trees Vict Victorian village voice volume wave wild wind window woods youth Нур
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 22 - Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
Сторінка 66 - Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought I ENDYMION.
Сторінка 272 - ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Сторінка 234 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Сторінка 25 - When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight...
Сторінка 221 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an Eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist...
Сторінка 20 - O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before ! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more.
Сторінка 22 - I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Сторінка 23 - They are all gone into the world of light! And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear; It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the sun's remove.
Сторінка 195 - THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies...