Poems on Several Occasions, 1 tomasDodd, Mead, 1895 |
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4 psl.
... Grew in the same grim shapes ; and still The lipless dolphin spurted ; Still in his wonted state abode The broken - nosed Apollo ; And still the cypress - arbour showed The same umbrageous hollow . Only , as fresh young Beauty gleams ...
... Grew in the same grim shapes ; and still The lipless dolphin spurted ; Still in his wonted state abode The broken - nosed Apollo ; And still the cypress - arbour showed The same umbrageous hollow . Only , as fresh young Beauty gleams ...
15 psl.
... grew Devout and acid . But hers was neither fate . She came Of good west - country folk , whose fame . Has faded now . For us her name Is " Madam Placid . " Patience or Prudence , what you will , Some prefix faintly fragrant still As ...
... grew Devout and acid . But hers was neither fate . She came Of good west - country folk , whose fame . Has faded now . For us her name Is " Madam Placid . " Patience or Prudence , what you will , Some prefix faintly fragrant still As ...
16 psl.
... grew debonair . 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 ...
... grew debonair . 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 ...
23 psl.
... grew pale and red , ( JOHN was afraid of her , people said ; ) Gasped that " DOLLY was surely cracked , " ( JOHN was afraid of her- ― that's a fact ! ) GEORGE the Guard grew red and pale , Slowly finished his quart of ale : - " Shoot ...
... grew pale and red , ( JOHN was afraid of her , people said ; ) Gasped that " DOLLY was surely cracked , " ( JOHN was afraid of her- ― that's a fact ! ) GEORGE the Guard grew red and pale , Slowly finished his quart of ale : - " Shoot ...
27 psl.
... shoulder blade ; Down from the saddle fell " BEAU BROCADE " ! Down from the saddle and never stirred ! DOLLY grew white as a Windsor curd . - -- Slipped not less from the mare , and bound Strips 27 THE BALLAD OF " BEAU BROCADE .
... shoulder blade ; Down from the saddle fell " BEAU BROCADE " ! Down from the saddle and never stirred ! DOLLY grew white as a Windsor curd . - -- Slipped not less from the mare , and bound Strips 27 THE BALLAD OF " BEAU BROCADE .
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE Autonoë BABETTE BALLAD BARON BEAU BROCADE beauty Beersheba Belle Marquise BEN JONSON bird blue Boucher bright eyes brows Caliph CHALCEDONY CHARLES BLANC CIRCE COUNTESS Cupid's Alley dance Davus dead dear DENISE DOLLY dream E'en eyes face fair fawn that seeks François Boucher FRANK grace gray heart Here's a present intended an Ode King more terrible kissed me to-day knew L'ÉTOILE laughing LAWRENCE London stones look Love's M'sieu Madam Maid Monsieur Muse myrtle twine Naught but myrtle NINETTE NINON o'er once pipe and flute Poets present for Rose PRINCESS PROCRIS Pure song rhyme Rose kissed Rosina School of Coquettes seeks its mother sigh sing smile song Stand and Deliver stay stirred strange stray fawn sweet thee THEOCRITUS thing thou thought Thracian thrush turned Twas twixt VIEUXBOIS watched weary wind-flower yore
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252 psl. - ... 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 ? Let his Majesty hang to St. James The axe that he whetted to hack us ; He must play at some lustier games Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us ; To his mines of Peru he would pack us To tug at his bullet and chain ; Alas ! that his Greatness should lack -us ! But where...
262 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
223 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...
164 psl. - Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled ! Only the tremulous Words of a child ; Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His her dead father's kiss Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all.
163 psl. - Tis but another dead ; All you can say is said. Carry his body hence, Kings must have slaves ; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves : So this man's eye is dim ; Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, There, at his side ? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died ; Message or wish, may be ; Smooth the folds out and see.
214 psl. - When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, More potent far the spell. O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin strait and terse; Leave to the tyro's hand The limp and shapeless style; See that thy form demand The labor of the file.
5 psl. - From coffee-coloured laces, So peeped from its old-fashioned dreams The fresher modern traces ; For idle mallet, hoop, and ball Upon the lawn were lying ; A magazine, a tumbled shawl, Round which the swifts were flying ; And, tossed beside the Guelder rose, A heap of rainbow knitting, Where, blinking in her pleased repose, A Persian cat was sitting. " A place to love in, live, for aye, If we too, like Tithonus, Could find some God to stretch the gray, Scant life the Fates have thrown...
250 psl. - Talon-rouge, falbala, queue, Cardinal, Duke, to a man, Eager to sigh or to sue, This was the Pompadour's fan!
106 psl. - 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.
221 psl. - URCEUS EXIT." I INTENDED an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet. It began a la mode, I intended an Ode ; But Rose crossed the road In her latest new bonnet ; I intended an Ode ; And it turned to a Sonnet.