Essays in IdlenessHoughton, Mifflin, 1893 - 3 стор. |
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admirable AGNES REPPLIER Agrippina amid amusing animal Bagehot battle beast beautiful bore boys brave Charles Charles Lamb charming child creatures dear delicate delight English enjoy enjoyment ennui evil eyes fancy favorite feel fight forever French gentle girl grace grave hands hear heart Horace Walpole human humor idle Iliad King kitten Lady Lamb language laugh laughter Leigh Hunt leisure less letters lines literature living Lord Byron Macaulay Madame Maurice de Guérin Miss nature ness never night noble Old Mortality Oscar Wilde pain Pambesa pastime perhaps play pleasant pleasure poems poetry poets poor praise pretty prose reveals Robert Elsmere Sainte-Beuve Saintsbury says Schopenhauer Scott sentiment Sévigné Sir Thomas Browne Sir Walter Sir Walter Scott song soul spirit story sweet sympathy things thought tion to-day truth verses wandering weary woman words writes young
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Сторінка 46 - And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him, thus.
Сторінка 39 - She left the web, she left the- loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; ' The curse is come upon me !
Сторінка 75 - Gloster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood With his brave brother; Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another. Warwick...
Сторінка 39 - Tirra lirra,' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro...
Сторінка 117 - I will compose poetry." The greatest poet even cannot say it; for the mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness...
Сторінка 90 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. " This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
Сторінка 66 - The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition; We met an host and quelled it; We forced a strong position, And killed the men who held it.
Сторінка 84 - Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet. Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat...
Сторінка 72 - Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
Сторінка 67 - Spilt blood enough to swim in : We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with our foemen : The heroes and the cravens, The spearmen and the bowmen. ~ We brought away from battle, And much their land bemoaned them, Two thousand head of cattle, And the head of him who owned them : Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, His head was borne before us ; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, And his overthrow, our chorus.