Little French Masterpieces, 3 tomasG.P. Putnam's sons, 1903 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Algernon Charles Swinburne Antwerp ardour arms Arria Marcella azure Barbara beauty beneath blue body breast breath Casina charming cheeks chimera Clarimonde Clarimonde's colour corner dark dead death Diomedes dream dress eyes face fancied feet fell felt Flanders Flemish flowers folds friends G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Gautier gazed glance glass gleam gold Gretchen hair hand head heart imagination Julius Cæsar kiss Lafcadio Hearn light lips living look lover Magdalen maiden marble mind mistress Naples never night nightingale Octavian painted painter pale passed passion Phidias pillars poet Pompeii priest realised Romuald rose Rubens Rue Kipdorp Scheldt seemed Sérapion shadow shoulders sleep smile soul stood strange street surprise sweet tears thee Théophile Gautier things thou thought Tiburce Tiburce's tion Titian tomb took touched turned Tyche voice walked walls window wine wings woman women young
Populiarios ištraukos
265 psl. - Yes; when the ways oppose — When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, — More potent far the spell.
263 psl. - WE are in love's land to-day ; Where shall we go ? Love, shall we start or stay, Or sail or row ? There's many a wind and way, And never a May but May ; We are in love's hand to-day ; Where shall we go ? Our landwind is the breath Of sorrows kissed to death And joys that were ; Our ballast is a rose ; Our way lies where God knows And love knows where. We are in love's hand to-dayOur seamen are fledged Loves, Our masts are bills of doves, Our decks fine gold ; Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores...
266 psl. - For bronze of Syracuse ; In the veined agate trace The profile of thy Muse. Painter, that still must mix But transient tints anew, Thou in the furnace fix The firm enamel's hue ; Let the smooth tile receive Thy dove-drawn Erycine ; Thy Sirens blue at eve Coiled in a wash of wine. All passes. ART alone Enduring stays to us ; The Bust out-lasts the throne, The Coin, Tiberius ; Even the gods must go ; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o'erthrow,— Not long array of time.
264 psl. - Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores are love-shafts fair And manifold. We are in love's land to-day — Where shall we land you, sweet ? On fields of strange men's feet, Or fields near home ? Or where the fire-flowers blow, Or where the flowers of snow • Or flowers of foam ? We are in love's hand to-dayLand me, she says, where love Shows but one shaft, one dove, One heart, one hand.
263 psl. - s many a wind and way, And never a May but May; We are in love's hand to-day; Where shall we go? Our land-wind is the breath Of sorrows kissed to death And joys that were; Our ballast is a rose; Our way lies where God knows And love knows where. We are in love's hand to-day — • Our seamen are fledged Loves, Our masts are bills of doves, Our decks fine gold ; Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores are love-shafts fair And manifold.
285 psl. - CLARIMONDE WITH elbow buried in the downy pillow I've lain and read, All through the night, a volume Strangely written In tongues long dead. For at my bedside lie no dainty slippers; And, save my own, Under the paling lamp I hear no breathing: — I am alone! But there are yellow bruises on my body And violet stains; Though no white vampire came with lips bloodcrimsoned To suck my veins! Now I bethink me of a sweet weird story, That in the dark Our dead loves thus with seal of chilly kisses Our bodies...
287 psl. - With sweet, soft eyelids closed, to be reopened Never again. Dead sweetheart, can it be that thou hast lifted With thy frail hand Thy coffin-lid, to come to me again From Shadowland ? Thou who, one joyous night, didst, pale and speechless, Pass from us all, Dropping thy silken mask and gift of flowers Amidst the ball ? Oh, fondest of my loves, from that far heaven Where thou must be, Hast thou returned to pay the debt of kisses Thou owest me?
236 psl. - ... later at my leisure; and taking advantage of a moment when she had her back turned, I tossed the contents under the table; after which I withdrew to my apartment and went to bed, fully determined not to go to sleep and to see what it all meant. I did not wait long; Clarimonde entered in her night-robe, and, having cast it aside, knelt beside my bed. When she was fully assured that I was asleep, she bared my arm and drew a gold pin from her hair; then she murmured in a low voice: "One drop, just...
191 psl. - Ah! if I had not been a priest, I might have seen her every day; I might have been her lover, her husband...
257 psl. - They realized it themselves, and returned to their virginal, which they had abandoned for vocal music. But one night the window was open, the birds were twittering in the park, the night wind sighed harmoniously: there was so much music in the air that they could not resist the temptation to sing a duet which they had composed the night before. It was the Swan's Song, a wondrous melody all drenched with tears, ascending to the most inaccessible heights of the scale, and redescending the ladder of...