The Works of Matthew Arnold, Том 4Macmillan, 1903 |
З цієї книги
Результати 1-5 із 35
Сторінка 45
... happiness in common things and in domestic affections - a life of which , to Milton as to Dante , too small a share was given - he seems to have known most , if not only , in his one married year with the wife who is here buried . Her ...
... happiness in common things and in domestic affections - a life of which , to Milton as to Dante , too small a share was given - he seems to have known most , if not only , in his one married year with the wife who is here buried . Her ...
Сторінка 46
Matthew Arnold George William Erskine Russell. rest and happiness one year , is a part of Milton indeed , and in calling up her memory , we call up his . And in calling up Milton's memory we call up , let me say , a memory upon which ...
Matthew Arnold George William Erskine Russell. rest and happiness one year , is a part of Milton indeed , and in calling up her memory , we call up his . And in calling up Milton's memory we call up , let me say , a memory upon which ...
Сторінка 59
... happiness on him , talked of him for ever , wished him with me whenever I partook of any pleasure , and flew to him for refuge whenever I felt any uneasiness . To whom now shall I talk of all I have seen here ? Who will teach me to read ...
... happiness on him , talked of him for ever , wished him with me whenever I partook of any pleasure , and flew to him for refuge whenever I felt any uneasiness . To whom now shall I talk of all I have seen here ? Who will teach me to read ...
Сторінка 72
... happiness , who heard the golden - snooded Muses sing , on the mountain the one heard them , the other in seven - gated Thebes . There is the evolution of genuine poetry , and such poetry kills Dryden's the moment it is put near it ...
... happiness , who heard the golden - snooded Muses sing , on the mountain the one heard them , the other in seven - gated Thebes . There is the evolution of genuine poetry , and such poetry kills Dryden's the moment it is put near it ...
Сторінка 75
... happier away from you . ' Tis richer than an Argosy of Pearles . Do not threat me even in jest . I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it . I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my ...
... happier away from you . ' Tis richer than an Argosy of Pearles . Do not threat me even in jest . I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it . I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my ...
Інші видання - Показати все
Загальні терміни та фрази
admirably Amiel Amiel's Journal Anna Karénine beauty Boinville Byron called character charm Chaucer classic Count Tolstoi criticism diction doctrine Dryden Emerson English English poetry excellent eyes faults feel France French Gaulish George Sand give goddess Godwin Goethe Gray Gray's Greek happiness Harriet Harriet Westbrook heart Hogg human ideas instinct interesting Jesus Keats kind Kitty knowledge letters Levine Levine's literary literature living Lord Byron Madame Bovary Mary matter Milton mind Molière moral nation nature Necessity of Atheism ness never novel numbers passage passion Paul Bourget perhaps philosophy piece Plato poems poet poetic poetry praise present Professor Dowden prose recognise religion remnant render Russian Sainte-Beuve Scherer seems sense sentiment Shakspeare Shelley Shelley's society soul speak spirit style tells things thought tion true truth verse Victor Hugo virtue Wilson Barrett words Wordsworth write Wronsky
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 36 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Сторінка 50 - Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases.
Сторінка 148 - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
Сторінка 142 - What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither : Ripeness is all : Come on.
Сторінка 38 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Сторінка 16 - Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Сторінка 40 - We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine : But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a hand o' thine ; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne ! And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine ; And we'll tak a cup o...
Сторінка 29 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Сторінка 354 - Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events.
Сторінка 186 - But let no one suppose that a want of humour and a self-delusion such as Shelley's have no effect upon a man's poetry. The man Shelley, in very truth, is not entirely sane, and Shelley's poetry is not entirely sane either. The Shelley of actual life is a vision of beauty and radiance, indeed, but availing nothing, effecting nothing. And in poetry, no less than in life, he is "a beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in vain.