Old-world Idylls and Other Verses |
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5 psl.
But now by steam we run our race , With buttoned heart and pocket ; Our Love ' s a gilded , surplus grace ,Just like an empty locket ! 11 " The time is out of joint . ' Who will , May strive to make it better ; For me , this warm old ...
But now by steam we run our race , With buttoned heart and pocket ; Our Love ' s a gilded , surplus grace ,Just like an empty locket ! 11 " The time is out of joint . ' Who will , May strive to make it better ; For me , this warm old ...
9 psl.
1 1 1 l Reynolds has painted him , -a face Filled with a fine , old - fashioned grace , Fresh - coloured , frank , with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded ; The eyes are blue , the hair is drest In plainest way , -one hand is prest Deep in ...
1 1 1 l Reynolds has painted him , -a face Filled with a fine , old - fashioned grace , Fresh - coloured , frank , with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded ; The eyes are blue , the hair is drest In plainest way , -one hand is prest Deep in ...
15 psl.
He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And lingering dimples , Had spared to touch the fair old face , And only kissed with Vauxhall grace The soft white hand that stroked her lace , Or smoothed ...
He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And lingering dimples , Had spared to touch the fair old face , And only kissed with Vauxhall grace The soft white hand that stroked her lace , Or smoothed ...
31 psl.
... You were Vénus à Cythere " ; Sappho mise en Pompadour , And Minerve en Parabère " ; You had every grace of heaven In your most angelic face , With the nameless finer leaven Lent of blood and courtly UNE MARQUISE . 31.
... You were Vénus à Cythere " ; Sappho mise en Pompadour , And Minerve en Parabère " ; You had every grace of heaven In your most angelic face , With the nameless finer leaven Lent of blood and courtly UNE MARQUISE . 31.
32 psl.
Yet with us your toilet graces Fail to please , And the last of your last faces , And your mise ; For we hold you just as real , Belle Marquise ! As your Bergers and Bergères , Iles d'Amour and Batelières ; As your parcs , and your ...
Yet with us your toilet graces Fail to please , And the last of your last faces , And your mise ; For we hold you just as real , Belle Marquise ! As your Bergers and Bergères , Iles d'Amour and Batelières ; As your parcs , and your ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alley BABETTE BALLADE BEAU beauty Belle Marquise beside better bird blue Boucher bright Caliph clear comes dance dead dear Death DENISE door doubt dream eyes face fair fate feel feet flowers FRANK fresh garden Give gone grace gray green grew grow hair Half hand head hear heard heart hope John king kissed knew laughing LAWRENCE leaves less light lips lived look Maid mean morning Muse never night NINETTE NINON once pain pale pass pipe play Poet poor rest Rose round seek seemed shade sing smile song Spring stand stay stirred strange surely sweet tears thing thou thought to-day turned Twas voice wait watch weary young
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239 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
233 psl. - CHICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white, Painted by Carlo Vanloo, Loves in a riot of light, Roses and vaporous blue; Hark to the dainty frou-frou! Picture above, if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew, This was the Pompadour's fan ! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the...
214 psl. - Love comes back to his vacant dwelling The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. " He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie, as he lay before ; Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
104 psl. - My book in turn avers (No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers Are sadly mis-translated." " But hear, the next's in stronger style : The Cynic School asserted That two red lips which part and smile May not be controverted ! " She smiled once more "My book, I find, Observes some modern doctors Would make the Cynics out a .kind Of album-verse concoctors." Then I "Why not? ' Ephesian law, No less than time's tradition, Enjoined fair speech on all who saw Diana's apparition.
158 psl. - HE had played for his lordship's levee, He had played for her ladyship's whim, Till the poor little head was heavy, And the poor little brain would swim. And the face grew peaked and eerie, And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said too late "He is weary I He shall rest for, at least, To-night...
237 psl. - Musician, the piece that you played Is nought but a copy of Chopin or Spohr; That the ballad you sing is but merely "conveyed" From the stock of the Arnes and the Purcells of yore; That there's nothing, in short, in the words or the score That is not as out-worn as the "Wandering Jew," Make answer Beethoven could scarcely do more That the man who plants cabbages imitates, too! If they tell you, Sir Artist, your light and your shade Are simply adapted from other men's lore; That plainly to...
235 psl. - His carackes were christened of dames To the kirtles whereof he would tack us ; With his saints and his gilded stern-frames, He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us. Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, And Drake to his Devon again, And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus, For where are the galleons of Spain i
103 psl. - Then read him do ; And I'll read mine in answer." I read. " My Plato (Plato, too, That wisdom thus should harden !) Declares ' blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.' " She smiled. " My book in turn avers (No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers Are sadly mis-translated.
207 psl. - All passes. ART alone Enduring stays to us ; The Bust outlasts the throne, The Coin, Tiberius ; Even the gods must go ; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o'erthro\v,Not long array of time.
81 psl. - hold the boards," and still are played, "With new effects and dresses." Small, lonely " three-pair-backs " behold, To-day, Alcestis dying; To-day, in farthest Polar cold, Ulysses' bones are lying ; Still in one's morning " Times " one reads How fell an Indian Hector ; Still clubs discuss Achilles...