Macmillan's Magazine, Том 3

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Macmillan and Company, 1861

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Сторінка 333 - But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Сторінка 48 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 'With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here. But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come...
Сторінка 5 - Dilke upon various subjects ; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a man of achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously — I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
Сторінка 7 - MY HEART aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Сторінка 5 - REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them...
Сторінка 6 - Sublime; which is a thing per se, and stands alone), it is not itself — it has no self — it is every thing and nothing — It has no character — it enjoys light and shade ; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated — It has as much delight in conceiving an lago as an Imogen.
Сторінка 379 - My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot: My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My IK.II [ is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.
Сторінка 7 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene...
Сторінка 5 - Abbey," and it seems to me that his Genius is explorative of those dark Passages. Now if we live, and go on thinking, we too shall explore them.
Сторінка 7 - The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth ; Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thou now, By thy love's milky brow! By all the trembling mazes that she ran, Hear us, great Pan!

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