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Сторінка 44 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV "Ah, Porphyro!
Сторінка 32 - Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage: not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
Сторінка 43 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake ! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Сторінка 46 - Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: " No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. — Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing — A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.
Сторінка 30 - Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare. They told her how, upon St. Agnes...
Сторінка 39 - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
Сторінка 47 - She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears — Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.
Сторінка 32 - He had a fever late, and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land ; Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit More tame for his gray hairs— alas me ! flit ! Flit like a ghost away !" "Ah, gossip dear, We're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair sit, And tell me how —