The Friendly Town: A Little Book for the UrbaneMethuen & Company, 1905 - 379 psl. |
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... Brown PAGE 123 · 123 H. W. Longfellow . 124 SOPHOCLES ARISTOPHANES PINDAR MELEAGER CATULLUS BOCCACCIO TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE DUMAS • HAZLITT'S WAY " FOR HUMAN DELIGHT " TO THE GENTLE READER John Keats 124 Andrew Lang 125 Greek Anthology ...
... Brown PAGE 123 · 123 H. W. Longfellow . 124 SOPHOCLES ARISTOPHANES PINDAR MELEAGER CATULLUS BOCCACCIO TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE DUMAS • HAZLITT'S WAY " FOR HUMAN DELIGHT " TO THE GENTLE READER John Keats 124 Andrew Lang 125 Greek Anthology ...
22 psl.
... brown bowls , Garnished with ribbons blithely trowls . There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by Plum - porridge stood and Christmas pie ; Nor failed old Scotland to produce At such high - tide her savoury goose . Then came the merry ...
... brown bowls , Garnished with ribbons blithely trowls . There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by Plum - porridge stood and Christmas pie ; Nor failed old Scotland to produce At such high - tide her savoury goose . Then came the merry ...
38 psl.
... brown pair Of hawks from the wood float with wide wings Strained to a bell : ' gainst noon - day glare You count the streaks and rings . But at afternoon or almost eve ' Tis better ; then the silence grows To that degree you half ...
... brown pair Of hawks from the wood float with wide wings Strained to a bell : ' gainst noon - day glare You count the streaks and rings . But at afternoon or almost eve ' Tis better ; then the silence grows To that degree you half ...
47 psl.
... brown o'erhung , The shape alert , the wit at will , The phrase that stuck , but never stung . You keep your youth as yon Scotch firs , Whose gaunt line my horizon hems , Though twilight all the lowland blurs , Hold sunset in their ...
... brown o'erhung , The shape alert , the wit at will , The phrase that stuck , but never stung . You keep your youth as yon Scotch firs , Whose gaunt line my horizon hems , Though twilight all the lowland blurs , Hold sunset in their ...
52 psl.
... brown ! Dream - forger , I refill thy cup With reverie's wasteful pittance up , And while the fire burns slow away , Hiding itself in ashes grey , I'll think , -As inward Youth retreats , Compelled to spare his wasting heats , When ...
... brown ! Dream - forger , I refill thy cup With reverie's wasteful pittance up , And while the fire burns slow away , Hiding itself in ashes grey , I'll think , -As inward Youth retreats , Compelled to spare his wasting heats , When ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alfred Cochrane beauty Ben Jonson better Bouillabaisse brown chair Charles Lamb Christmas claret clay dear delights door doth dream drink earth ev'ry eyes face fair fancy fire George Meredith give grace hand hath hear heart heaven Horace Walpole J. R. Lowell Jack John Johnson joys knew lady laughed light lips live London look Lord master merry mind mirth morning mortal never night o'er pipe play pleasure poet rich Richard Lovelace round Samuel Pepys Shakespeare sing smile smoke tobacco song soul speak spirit Street sweet T. E. Brown tavern tears tell thee There's thine things thou thought turn twas verse voice W. E. Henley W. M. Thackeray walk William Hazlitt William Makepeace Thackeray wine winter wonder worth Xavier Marmier young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
327 psl. - My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast; But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart; For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
216 psl. - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.
325 psl. - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
321 psl. - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
243 psl. - I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
371 psl. - Tis hard to part when friends are dear— • Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.
370 psl. - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
70 psl. - BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.
26 psl. - THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept as I remember'd how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky...
327 psl. - Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor in thy marble vault shall sound My echoing song ; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.