The Atlantic Monthly, 76 tomasAtlantic Monthly Company, 1895 |
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623 psl.
... Tillingham on the morrow . Where now was the relish of such small revenge ? Old Lucian Crook shifted his seat on the fence rail with a painful grunt . " Huh - uh ! " he sighed . " That show's a long time comin ' by ! Ain't that the ban ...
... Tillingham on the morrow . Where now was the relish of such small revenge ? Old Lucian Crook shifted his seat on the fence rail with a painful grunt . " Huh - uh ! " he sighed . " That show's a long time comin ' by ! Ain't that the ban ...
624 psl.
... Tillingham was still in his harvest field , still busy , and now alone , his figure dark and stubborn in the waning light . She glanced up- ward . The sky still paled round three sides of the horizon , smiled in amethyst- ine mockery ...
... Tillingham was still in his harvest field , still busy , and now alone , his figure dark and stubborn in the waning light . She glanced up- ward . The sky still paled round three sides of the horizon , smiled in amethyst- ine mockery ...
630 psl.
... Tillingham stood as in a dream . " Is that you , Jack ? " The answer came more lazily drawl- ing than before : " More me than any- body else , I reckon . " " How in the name of mischief did you get how long have you been here ? " Jack ...
... Tillingham stood as in a dream . " Is that you , Jack ? " The answer came more lazily drawl- ing than before : " More me than any- body else , I reckon . " " How in the name of mischief did you get how long have you been here ? " Jack ...
633 psl.
... Tillingham knelt on the stubble and bent his lips to the spot . - She burst into tears . When he lifted his face again , a few drops , big and heavy , were glistening on hair and forehead ; whether from her eyes or the bending clouds ...
... Tillingham knelt on the stubble and bent his lips to the spot . - She burst into tears . When he lifted his face again , a few drops , big and heavy , were glistening on hair and forehead ; whether from her eyes or the bending clouds ...
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ain't Alixe Angel Alley Arthur asked Bayard beautiful birds Brunelleschi called canals Captain church Coleridge dark daugh dear door England English eral eyes face father feel felt fire France Frank Bellamy French friends Gabord Giorgione girl give hand head heard heart Helen Hite hour Iliad jury knew land laugh Lena letter light live look M'sieu Marquis de Montcalm marriage ment mind Miss mountain Nadaud nature ness never night Odyssey once passed perhaps Persimmon Sneed poet Polk Prince de Ligne Princess de Ligne Quebec road seemed seen smile Solis Lacus speak spirit Stobo stood story strong sure talk tell things thought Tillingham tion told took town turned veery Voban voice Werowocomoco wife wind window woman words writing young
Populiarios ištraukos
267 psl. - And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic : not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house : I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door.
393 psl. - I consider as an echo of the former, coexisting with the conscious will, yet still as identical with the primary in the kind of its agency, and differing only in degree, and in the mode of its operation. It dissolves, diffuses, dissipates, in order to re-create ; or where this process is rendered impossible, yet still at all events it struggles to idealize and to unify. It is essentially vital, even as all objects (as objects) are essentially fixed and dead.
402 psl. - Ah! Then, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream; I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Amid a world how different from this!
393 psl. - The primary Imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM...
164 psl. - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
367 psl. - The cup of forbearance had been exhausted, even before the recent information from the frontier of the Del Norte. But now, after reiterated menaces, Mexico has passed the boundary of the United States, has invaded our territory, and shed American blood upon the American soil.
481 psl. - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
395 psl. - For all that meets the bodily sense I deem Symbolical, one mighty alphabet For infant minds ; and we in this low world Placed with our backs to bright reality, That we may learn with young unwounded ken The substance from its shadow.
617 psl. - They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.
391 psl. - Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Logician, Metaphysician, Bard! — How have I seen the casual passer through the Cloisters stand still, entranced with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between the speech and the garb of the young Mirandula), to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar— —while the walls of the old...