Collected PoemsK. Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1907 - 568 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 24
39 psl.
... pains , and fleeting pale contritions , Mute little moods of misery and wrong ; Only a child , of Nature's rarest making , Wistful and sweet , and with a heart for breaking ! Day after day the little loving creature Came and returned ...
... pains , and fleeting pale contritions , Mute little moods of misery and wrong ; Only a child , of Nature's rarest making , Wistful and sweet , and with a heart for breaking ! Day after day the little loving creature Came and returned ...
103 psl.
... sun , has set ; And Ruth , Heaven bless her , Ruth that I wooed , -and wooed in vain , - Has gone where neither grief nor pain Can now distress her . DOROTHY A REVERIE SUGGESTED BY THE NAME UPON A PANE 103 POT - POURRI.
... sun , has set ; And Ruth , Heaven bless her , Ruth that I wooed , -and wooed in vain , - Has gone where neither grief nor pain Can now distress her . DOROTHY A REVERIE SUGGESTED BY THE NAME UPON A PANE 103 POT - POURRI.
143 psl.
... pain nor ease , But death not yet . Outside a woman talked— His wife she was - whose clicking needles sped To faded phrases of complaint that balked My rising words of comfort . Overhead , A cage that hung amid the jasmine stars ...
... pain nor ease , But death not yet . Outside a woman talked— His wife she was - whose clicking needles sped To faded phrases of complaint that balked My rising words of comfort . Overhead , A cage that hung amid the jasmine stars ...
149 psl.
... . " Ah , if beside the dead Slumbered the pain ! Ah , if the hearts that bled Slept with the slain ! If the grief died ; —But no ; — Death will not have it so . THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE A SKETCH IN A CEMETERY OUT from 149 BEFORE SEDAN.
... . " Ah , if beside the dead Slumbered the pain ! Ah , if the hearts that bled Slept with the slain ! If the grief died ; —But no ; — Death will not have it so . THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE A SKETCH IN A CEMETERY OUT from 149 BEFORE SEDAN.
156 psl.
... pain than age ; The mother with her lines of care ; The many - buttoned page ; The noisy , red - cheeked nursery - maid , With straggling train of three ; The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ; - All , curious , paused to see , If ...
... pain than age ; The mother with her lines of care ; The many - buttoned page ; The noisy , red - cheeked nursery - maid , With straggling train of three ; The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ; - All , curious , paused to see , If ...
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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...