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admirable appeared APPLETON Art Needlework artistic asked beautiful better BOND STREET Byron Caliph called character cloth color Coppet cried criticism decoration Desdemona Diesis dress Endymion English eyes father feel Frentzel friend Florentin Georg Ebers Georges Mouton girl give Greek guanaco hand head heard heart Iago idea Inglehart interest lady laughing light listen literary live look Lord Lord Beaconsfield Madame Madame de Staël Margaret ment mind Mopsus mother nature never night novel once Othello painted passed perhaps person Phalsbourg Phaon play poet poetry political present Professor question reader scene seemed Semestre Shakespeare soul speak spirit story Street style Suwarrow taste things thought tion told true turned VASELINE verse volume whole woman women words writing Wyeth Xanthe York young
418 psl. - 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.
418 psl. - Shelley, beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in vain.
252 psl. - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
416 psl. - What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither : Ripeness is all : Come on.
127 psl. - Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field; that, of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the hour.
243 psl. - Listen! You hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
96 psl. - The Puritan hated bearbaiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators.
402 psl. - Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see : She has deceived her father, and may thee.