The Dial, Том 57

Передня обкладинка
Jansen, McClurg, 1914
 

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Сторінка 16 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Сторінка 98 - Genesis) when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac; for even so he trusted her to choose for him, promising upon a fair summons to return to London and accept of her choice; and he did so in that or about the year following.
Сторінка 250 - With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM. Then I had religion, then I had a vision, I could not turn from their revel in derision. Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, Cutting through the forest with a golden track.
Сторінка 167 - To his Lute MY lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds on thee their ramage did bestow.
Сторінка 311 - Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.' 'The question is, 'said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.
Сторінка 413 - And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith: Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; But he shouted a song for the brave and the free — Just read on his medal, "My country,
Сторінка 298 - In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book, or goes to an American play, or looks at an American picture or statue...
Сторінка 299 - Read Homer once, and you can read no more ; For all books else appear so mean, so poor, Verse will seem prose : but still persist to read. And Homer will be all the books you need.
Сторінка 249 - Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM. THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision. I could not turn from their revel in derision. THEN i SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
Сторінка 169 - As, in a dusky and tempestuous night, A star is wont to spread her locks of gold, And while her pleasant rays abroad are roll'd, Some spiteful cloud doth rob us of her sight ; Fair soul, in this black age so shin'd thou bright, And made all eyes with wonder thee behold, Till ugly Death, depriving us of light, In his grim misty arms thee did enfold.

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