Travellers Joy

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E.P. Dutton, 1906 - 319 стор.
 

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Сторінка 161 - Withdraws into its happiness ; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside...
Сторінка 53 - Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Сторінка 292 - The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn : Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
Сторінка 111 - She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land.
Сторінка 81 - Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound...
Сторінка 178 - But man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery, in the infamy of his nature.
Сторінка 20 - Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows, That we one jot of former love retain...
Сторінка 2 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast, My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest — Ah, wanton, will ye?
Сторінка 112 - And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight!
Сторінка 84 - The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.

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