Little Classics: Poems, lyricalRossiter Johnson J.R. Osgood, 1875 |
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9 psl.
... dark of hazel eyes , - Saying , " I have hid my feelings , fearing they should do me wrong " ; Saying , " Dost thou love me , cousin ? " weeping , " I have loved thee long . " Love took up the glass of Time , and turned it in his ...
... dark of hazel eyes , - Saying , " I have hid my feelings , fearing they should do me wrong " ; Saying , " Dost thou love me , cousin ? " weeping , " I have loved thee long . " Love took up the glass of Time , and turned it in his ...
18 psl.
... dark - purple spheres of sea . There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind , In the steamship , in the railway , in the thoughts that shake mankind . There the passions cramped no longer shall have scope and 18 ...
... dark - purple spheres of sea . There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind , In the steamship , in the railway , in the thoughts that shake mankind . There the passions cramped no longer shall have scope and 18 ...
25 psl.
... dark verge of vanished days . Once more the garden where she walked on summer eves to tend her flowers , Once more the lawn where first we talked of future years in twilight hours , Arose ; once more she seemed to pass before me in the ...
... dark verge of vanished days . Once more the garden where she walked on summer eves to tend her flowers , Once more the lawn where first we talked of future years in twilight hours , Arose ; once more she seemed to pass before me in the ...
29 psl.
... Dark violet eyes whose glances , deep with April - hints of sunny tears , ' Neath long soft lashes laid asleep , seemed all too thoughtful for her years ; As though from mine her gaze had caught the secret of some mournful thought . But ...
... Dark violet eyes whose glances , deep with April - hints of sunny tears , ' Neath long soft lashes laid asleep , seemed all too thoughtful for her years ; As though from mine her gaze had caught the secret of some mournful thought . But ...
33 psl.
... dark Gethsemane I seemed to stand where thou hadst stood : And , scorned in this world's judgment - place , at times , through tears , to catch thy face . Thou sufferedest here , and didst not fail : thy bleeding feet these paths have ...
... dark Gethsemane I seemed to stand where thou hadst stood : And , scorned in this world's judgment - place , at times , through tears , to catch thy face . Thou sufferedest here , and didst not fail : thy bleeding feet these paths have ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ALFRED TENNYSON blow bonnets of bonnie bonnie Dundee boys brave breast breath bright cowslips crown Cusha dark dead dear death doth dream earth eyes fall feel fill flower Fontenoy forever Freedom's ahead galloped gang free glory glow golden hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honor JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL JEAN INGELOW JOHN MILTON kiss land let us gang life's light lips live Lochiel Locksley Hall long thoughts look Lord Lycidas morn mourn Neath nebber never night o'er open the Westport pain pale flower passion primroses rise ROBERT BUCHANAN round saddle your horses shadow shadows rise shining shore sigh silent sing smile song soul sound spring star sweet tears thee thine things thou thoughts of youth toil uppe voice wander wave weep Westport and let wheel wild WILLIAM MOTHERWELL wind wind's youth are long
Populiarios ištraukos
109 psl. - For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.
78 psl. - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
9 psl. - Love took up the glass of time, and turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
76 psl. - And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure...
85 psl. - In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a, weary dream.
62 psl. - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
97 psl. - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
17 psl. - Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
69 psl. - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
111 psl. - Ay me! I fondly dream — Had ye been there — for what could that have done, What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament...