The Copeland Reader: An Anthology of English Poetry and Prose, 1 tomasCharles Townsend Copeland C. Scribner's sons, 1926 - 1687 psl. |
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961 psl.
... Master of Ballantrae " beside me , but I was not reading : my head lay heavy on the table and to her anxious eyes , I doubt not , I was the picture of woe . " Not writing ! " I echoed , no , I was not writing , I saw no use in ever ...
... Master of Ballantrae " beside me , but I was not reading : my head lay heavy on the table and to her anxious eyes , I doubt not , I was the picture of woe . " Not writing ! " I echoed , no , I was not writing , I saw no use in ever ...
962 psl.
... Master of Ballantrae ! ' " I exclaimed , shocked . " So it is ! " said my mother , equally surprised . But I looked sternly at her , and perhaps she blushed . " Well what do you think : not nearly equal to mine ? " said I with humor ...
... Master of Ballantrae ! ' " I exclaimed , shocked . " So it is ! " said my mother , equally surprised . But I looked sternly at her , and perhaps she blushed . " Well what do you think : not nearly equal to mine ? " said I with humor ...
964 psl.
... Master of Ballantrae " is not the best . Conceive the glory , which was my mother's , of knowing from a trustworthy source that there are at least three better awaiting you on the same shelf . She did not know Alan Breck yet , and he ...
... Master of Ballantrae " is not the best . Conceive the glory , which was my mother's , of knowing from a trustworthy source that there are at least three better awaiting you on the same shelf . She did not know Alan Breck yet , and he ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Apollyon beauty better Bonny Dundee Bouillabaisse breath cried Crito Dang dark Dark Rosaleen dead dear death door doth dream earth eyes face fair father fear fire flowers gentleman give gone hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven honour hour king King Arthur knew lady Lady of Shalott laugh leave light live Long Melford looked lord Markheim Master of Ballantrae mind morning mother never night o'er Odysseus once pass Pickwick Polonius poor pray Puff Queen Redgauntlet replied round silent sing Sir Bedivere Sir Fret Sir Lucan Sisera sleep smile Sneer soul speak spirit stood struldbrugs sweet Tabary tears tell thee There's things thou thought Tiny Tim took turned unto voice walk wind wine Winkle woman word young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
793 psl. - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another ! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant...
76 psl. - ... consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading...
778 psl. - Say not, the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main, And not by eastern windows only, When daylight...
844 psl. - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
422 psl. - Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face ; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
539 psl. - THERE rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
122 psl. - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may...
370 psl. - twas like all instruments. Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
367 psl. - Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman's mate? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've won! I've won!
467 psl. - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.