The Princess: A MedleyEdward Moxon, Dover Street, 1851 - 182 psl. |
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21 psl.
... children ; they must lose the child , assume The woman : then , Sir , awful odes she wrote , Too awful , sure , for what they treated of , But all she is and does is awful ; odes About this losing of the child ; and rhymes And dismal ...
... children ; they must lose the child , assume The woman : then , Sir , awful odes she wrote , Too awful , sure , for what they treated of , But all she is and does is awful ; odes About this losing of the child ; and rhymes And dismal ...
47 psl.
... child , And held her round the knees against his waist , And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter , While Psyche watch'd them , smiling , and the child Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh'd ; And thus our conference closed ...
... child , And held her round the knees against his waist , And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter , While Psyche watch'd them , smiling , and the child Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh'd ; And thus our conference closed ...
110 psl.
... child ! ' At which she lifted up her voice and cried . ' Ah me , my babe , my blossom , ah my child , My one sweet child , whom I shall see no more ! For now will cruel Ida keep her back ; And either she will die from want of care , Or ...
... child ! ' At which she lifted up her voice and cried . ' Ah me , my babe , my blossom , ah my child , My one sweet child , whom I shall see no more ! For now will cruel Ida keep her back ; And either she will die from want of care , Or ...
111 psl.
... child : And I will take her up and go my way , And satisfy my soul with kissing her : Ah ! what might that man not deserve of me , Who gave me back my child ? ' ' Be comforted ' Said Cyril ' you shall have it : ' but again She veil'd ...
... child : And I will take her up and go my way , And satisfy my soul with kissing her : Ah ! what might that man not deserve of me , Who gave me back my child ? ' ' Be comforted ' Said Cyril ' you shall have it : ' but again She veil'd ...
128 psl.
... child Of one unworthy mother ; which she left : She shall not have it back : the child shall grow To prize the authentic mother of her mind . I took it for an hour in mine own bed This morning : there the tender orphan hands Felt at my ...
... child Of one unworthy mother ; which she left : She shall not have it back : the child shall grow To prize the authentic mother of her mind . I took it for an hour in mine own bed This morning : there the tender orphan hands Felt at my ...
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ALFRED TENNYSON answer'd Arac arms beat betwixt blood blow break breast breathe brows call'd cataract Celt child cried Cyril dark dash'd dead dear death deep dipt doubt DOVER STREET dream dropt dying earth EDWARD MOXON eyes face fair faith fall'n fancy father fear Florian flower flying grief half hall hand happy head hear heard heart Heaven hills hour king Lady Psyche land light Lilia lips lives look'd maiden maids Melissa mind moon morning mother move Muses night noble o'er once peace Prince Princess Princess Ida rapt Ring rose round sang seem'd shadow shame sleep song sorrow soul spake speak spirit spoke star stept stood strange sweet talk'd tears thee thine things thou thought thro touch'd trumpet truth turn'd unto vext voice wassail wild wild bells wind Winter's tale woman words
Populiarios ištraukos
1 psl. - I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
78 psl. - THE wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave ; Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul ? Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams ? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
73 psl. - THE splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story : The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying O hark, O hear!
76 psl. - Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete; That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain.
76 psl. - ... Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
76 psl. - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
186 psl. - I trust I have not wasted breath: I think we are not wholly brain, Magnetic mockeries; not in vain, Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death; Not only cunning casts in clay: Let Science prove we are, and then What matters Science unto men, At least to me? I would not stay.
76 psl. - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
69 psl. - That each, who seems a separate whole, Should move his rounds, and fusing all The skirts of self again, should fall Remerging in the general Soul, Is faith as vague as all unsweet: Eternal form shall still divide The eternal soul from all beside; And I shall know him when we meet...