The Oxford Book of Victorian VerseArthur Quiller-Couch Clarendon Press, 1913 - 1023 psl. |
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2 psl.
... whole world of whim . A thousand stories it could tell , - But it loves secrecy too well. Come closer , my sweet girl , pray do ! There may be still one left for you . 3 . 4 . IAN Ianthe ANTHE ! you are 2 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
... whole world of whim . A thousand stories it could tell , - But it loves secrecy too well. Come closer , my sweet girl , pray do ! There may be still one left for you . 3 . 4 . IAN Ianthe ANTHE ! you are 2 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
6 psl.
... tell thee yet There's but one white violet . 9 . Rose Aylmer H , what avails the sceptred race ! Ah , what the form divine ! AH What every virtue , every grace ! Rose Aylmer , all were thine . Rose Aylmer , whom these wakeful eyes May ...
... tell thee yet There's but one white violet . 9 . Rose Aylmer H , what avails the sceptred race ! Ah , what the form divine ! AH What every virtue , every grace ! Rose Aylmer , all were thine . Rose Aylmer , whom these wakeful eyes May ...
22 psl.
... . Infants have naught to weep for ere they die , All prayers are needless , beads they need not tell ; White flowers their mourners are , Nature their passing bell . 33 . Song OVE lives beyond the tomb Lo And 22 JOHN KEBLE.
... . Infants have naught to weep for ere they die , All prayers are needless , beads they need not tell ; White flowers their mourners are , Nature their passing bell . 33 . Song OVE lives beyond the tomb Lo And 22 JOHN KEBLE.
29 psl.
... Tell me not of your starry eyes , Your lips that seem on roses fed , Your breasts where Cupid tumbling lies , Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed . A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks , Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours , A breath that softer ...
... Tell me not of your starry eyes , Your lips that seem on roses fed , Your breasts where Cupid tumbling lies , Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed . A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks , Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours , A breath that softer ...
33 psl.
... tell . And Echo's fond despair Intelligible rocks re - syllable . Wherefore then should not I , Albeit no haughty Muse my heart inspire , Fated of grief to die , 42 . Impart it to my solitary lyre ? ii ISTEN to the Lyre ! LIS to Listen ...
... tell . And Echo's fond despair Intelligible rocks re - syllable . Wherefore then should not I , Albeit no haughty Muse my heart inspire , Fated of grief to die , 42 . Impart it to my solitary lyre ? ii ISTEN to the Lyre ! LIS to Listen ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Aghadoe Amy Levy Annabel Lee beauty bel ami beneath bird blow blue Bosphorus Bouillabaisse breast breath bright Camelot cold dark Dark Rosaleen dead dear death deep dream earth eyes face fair fear feet flame Flannan Isle flowers glory gold golden gone grass green grey hair hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills hour Judas Iscariot Karaman kiss Lady of Shalott land leaves light lips live look look'd Lord Luthany MELEAGER Moira O'Neill moon morning neath never night o'er once pale pass'd rose round sang seem'd shadows shine sigh silent sing skies sleep smile snow soft song sorrow soul sound Spring stag stars stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro Tirawley tree turn'd voice vrom waves weep wild wind wings wood young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
105 psl. - If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
207 psl. - The splendor 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.
51 psl. - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
328 psl. - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright.
174 psl. - And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. / was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love I and my ANNABEL LEE .With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea...
175 psl. - But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Anabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
330 psl. - MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord : He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword : His truth is marching on.
286 psl. - I was ever a fighter, so one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past.
370 psl. - The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
232 psl. - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.