Collected PoemsK. Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1907 - 568 psl. |
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4 psl.
... , A Persian cat was sitting . " A place to love in , -live , -- for aye , If we too , like Tithonus , Could find some God to stretch the gray , Scant life the Fates have thrown us ; " But now by steam we run our race , OLD - WORLD IDYLLS.
... , A Persian cat was sitting . " A place to love in , -live , -- for aye , If we too , like Tithonus , Could find some God to stretch the gray , Scant life the Fates have thrown us ; " But now by steam we run our race , OLD - WORLD IDYLLS.
14 psl.
... fate . She came Of good west - country folk , whose fame Has faded now . For us her name Is " Madam Placid . " Patience or Prudence , -what you will , Some prefix faintly fragrant still As those old musky scents that fill Our grandams ...
... fate . She came Of good west - country folk , whose fame Has faded now . For us her name Is " Madam Placid . " Patience or Prudence , -what you will , Some prefix faintly fragrant still As those old musky scents that fill Our grandams ...
51 psl.
... fate is far more hard than his ; - In fact , your Eyes- THE COUNTESS . Now , that's a breach ! Your bond is - not to make a speech . And we must start - so call Justine . I know exactly what you mean ! — Give me your arm- THE BARON . If ...
... fate is far more hard than his ; - In fact , your Eyes- THE COUNTESS . Now , that's a breach ! Your bond is - not to make a speech . And we must start - so call Justine . I know exactly what you mean ! — Give me your arm- THE BARON . If ...
81 psl.
... fate , When lip from lip had parted , And , therefore , just two seconds late , - A sharp - faced nurse - maid darted ; Swooped on the boy , as swoops a kite Upon a rover chicken , And bore him sourly off , despite His well - directed ...
... fate , When lip from lip had parted , And , therefore , just two seconds late , - A sharp - faced nurse - maid darted ; Swooped on the boy , as swoops a kite Upon a rover chicken , And bore him sourly off , despite His well - directed ...
93 psl.
... Fate gave me up to execution . I saw it all but now . The grin That gnarled old Gardener Sandy's features ; My father , scholar - like and thin , Unroused , the tenderest of creatures ; I saw - ah me— -I saw again My dear and ...
... Fate gave me up to execution . I saw it all but now . The grin That gnarled old Gardener Sandy's features ; My father , scholar - like and thin , Unroused , the tenderest of creatures ; I saw - ah me— -I saw again My dear and ...
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Autonoë BABETTE backswords BALLAD Bard BEAU BEAU BROCADE beauty Belle Marquise beside bird Boucher Caliph CARDENIO cheek comes Cupid's Alley Cyclops dance dead dear Dolly doubt dreams E'en eyes face fair fancy fate flowers François Boucher FRANK garden grace gray green grow hair hand hear heart JOLICŒUR knew LADY laughing light lips little Blue-Ribbons London stones look Love's LYRE Madame maid MOLIÈRE Molly Trefusis Monsieur Muse naught NINETTE NINON o'er old Sedan chair OMAR OMAR KHAYYÁM once pain pass pause perchance Phyllida pipe played POET praise Pure song quoth rhyme Rose round scarce Sedan chair sing smile song stirred surely sweet tale tears thee THEOCRITUS There's thine thing thou thought thrush to-day truth turn Twas twixt verses wait watch weary wind-flowers words yore young
Populiarios ištraukos
562 psl. - Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think; for if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like WHALES.
9 psl. - HE lived in that past Georgian day, When men were less inclined to say That ' Time is Gold,' and overlay With toil their pleasure ; He held some land, and dwelt thereon, — Where, I forget, — the house is gone ; His Christian name, I think, was John, — His surname, Leisure. Reynolds has painted him, — a face Filled with a fine, old-fashioned grace, Fresh-coloured, frank, with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded ; The eyes are blue, the hair is drest In plainest way, — one hand is prest Deep...
217 psl. - Cure down the street Comes with his kind old face — With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place," And the tiny
149 psl. - There, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died; — Message or wish, may be; Smooth the folds out and see. Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled! Only the tremulous Words of a child; Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His — her dead father's — kiss; Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "Marguerite.
67 psl. - SCENE. — A small neat Room. In a high Voltaire Chair sits a white-haired old Gentleman. MONSIEUR VIEUXBOIS. BABETTE. M. VIEUXBOIS (turning querulously.) Day of my life ! Where can she get ? BABETTE ! I say ! BABETTE ! — BABETTE ! ! BABETTE (entering hurriedly.) Coming, M'sieu' ! If M'sieu' speaks So loud, he wont be well for weeks ! M.
165 psl. - A GREEK GIRL WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum, Across the years you seem to come, — Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted ; A girlish shape that slips the bud In lines of unspoiled symmetry ; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoe...
7 psl. - ... dismissed Your simple old-world message ! A reverent one. Though we to-day Distrust beliefs and powers, The artless, ageless things you say Are fresh as May's own flowers, Starring some pure primeval spring, Ere Gold had grown despotic, — Ere Life was yet a selfish thing, Or Love a mere exotic ! I need not search too much to find Whose lot it was to send it, That feel upon me yet the kind, Soft hand of her who penned it ; And see, through...
5 psl. - Who will, May strive to make it better; For me, this warm old window-sill, And this old dusty letter.
492 psl. - DECAUSE you passed, and now are not,•*— ' Because, in some remoter day, Your sacred dust from doubtful spot Was blown of ancient airs away, — Because you perished, — must men say Your deeds were naught, and so profane Your lives with that cold burden ? Nay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain ! Though, it may be, above the plot That hid your once imperial clay, No greener than o'er men forgot...
472 psl. - WITH slower pen men used to write, Of old, when " letters " were " polite ; In ANNA'S, or in GEORGE'S days, They could afford to turn a phrase, Or trim a straggling theme aright. They knew not steam ; electric light Not yet had dazed their calmer sight ; — They meted out both blame and praise With slower pen. Too swiftly now the Hours take flight ! What's read at morn is dead at night : Scant space have we for Art's delays, Whose breathless thought so briefly stays, We may not work — ah ! would...