The Complete Poetical Works of Bret Harte

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Chatto and Windus, 1886 - 324 стор.

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Сторінка 274 - Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom, And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb, By the door of a legended tomb; And I said — "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?
Сторінка 273 - And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn As the star-dials hinted of morn At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.
Сторінка 22 - HARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum, — Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.
Сторінка 161 - Of the few baby peaks that were peeping From under their bedclothes of snow; Of that ride — that to me was the rarest; Of — the something you said at the gate. Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress To "the best-paying lead in the State!
Сторінка 274 - Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere — As the leaves that were withering and sere; And I cried: "It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed — I journeyed down here! — That I brought a dread burden down here — On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Сторінка 161 - Well, yes, — if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand ; If you saw poor dear mamma contriving To look supernaturally grand, — If you saw papa's picture, as taken By Brady, and tinted at that, You 'd never suspect he sold bacon And flour at Poverty Flat.
Сторінка 203 - From out the gusty pine. Lost is that camp and wasted all its fire: And he who wrought that spell? — Ah! towering pine and stately Kentish spire, Ye have one tale to tell! Lost is that camp, but let its fragrant story Blend with the breath that thrills With hopvines' incense all the pensive glory That fills the Kentish hills.
Сторінка 14 - ... thoughts as these Were strange to a practical man like Burns, Who minded only his own concerns, Troubled no more by fancies fine Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed...
Сторінка 17 - DOWN the picket-guarded lane Rolled the comfort-laden wain, Cheered by shouts that shook the plain, Soldier-like and merry : Phrases such as camps may teach, Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech, Such as " Bully ! " " Them's the peach !
Сторінка 90 - There has one already gone, whoe'er he be ! " Then they held their breath 'with awe, Pulling on the rope, and saw Fainting figures reappear, On the black rope swinging clear, Fastened by some...

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