Théophile GautierG.P. Putnams̓ Sons, 1903 - 288 psl. |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Abbé Sérapion Antwerp arms Arria Marcella azure Barbara beauty beneath blue body breast breath Casina charming cheeks chimera Clarimonde Clarimonde's colour corner dark dead death dream dress eyes face fancied feet fell felt Flemish flowers folds friends G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS GEORGE BURNHAM glance glass gleam gold Gretchen hair hand head heart Honoré de Balzac imagination JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES John Ruskin Julius Cæsar kiss light lips living look lover Magdalen maiden marble mind mistress never night nightingale Octavian Oliver Goldsmith painted painter pale passed passion pillars poet Pompeii priest Prosper Mérimée realised Romuald rose Rubens Rue Kipdorp seemed shadow shoulders sleep smile soul stood strange street surprise sweet tears thee Théophile Gautier thou thought Tiburce Tiburce's tion Titian tomb took touched turned Tyche voice walked window wine wings woman women young
Populiarios ištraukos
252 psl. - All passes. Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust outlasts the throne,— The Coin, Tiberius; Even the gods must go; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o'erthrow,— Paint, chisel, then, or write; But, that the work surpass, With the hard fashion fight, — With the resisting mass.
249 psl. - LOVE AT SEA WE are in love's land to-day ; Where shall we go ? Love, shall we start or stay, Or sail or row ? There's many a wind and way, And never a May but May ; We are in love's hand to-day ; Where shall we go ? Our landwind is the breath Of sorrows kissed to death And joys that were ; Our ballast is a rose ; Our way lies where God knows And love knows where. We are in love's hand to-dayOur seamen are fledged Loves, Our masts are bills of doves, Our decks fine gold ; Our ropes are dead maids'...
250 psl. - Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores are love-shafts fair And manifold. We are in love's land to-day — Where shall we land you, sweet ? On fields of strange men's feet, Or fields near home ? Or where the fire-flowers blow, Or where the flowers of snow • Or flowers of foam ? We are in love's hand to-dayLand me, she says, where love Shows but one shaft, one dove, One heart, one hand.
252 psl. - The labour of the file. SCULPTOR, do thou discard The yielding clay, — consign To Paros marble hard The beauty of thy line ; — Model thy Satyr's face For bronze of Syracuse ; In the veined agate trace The profile of thy Muse. PAINTER, that still must mix But transient tints anew, Thou in the furnace fix The firm enamel's hue ; Let the smooth tile receive Thy dove-drawn Erycine ; Thy Sirens blue at eve Coiled in a wash of wine. All passes. ART alone Enduring stays to us ; The Bust out-lasts the...
249 psl. - s many a wind and way, And never a May but May; We are in love's hand to-day; Where shall we go? Our land-wind is the breath Of sorrows kissed to death And joys that were; Our ballast is a rose; Our way lies where God knows And love knows where. We are in love's hand to-day — • Our seamen are fledged Loves, Our masts are bills of doves, Our decks fine gold ; Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores are love-shafts fair And manifold.
198 psl. - is it you, Romuald ? I have waited for you so long that now I am dead. But we are betrothed to one another from this moment, and I can see you and visit you henceforward. Romuald, I loved you ! Farewell ; this is all I have to say ; and thus I restore the life you gave me for a minute with your kiss. We shall soon meet again.
271 psl. - ve lain and read, All through the night, a volume strangely written In tongues long dead. For at my bedside lie no dainty slippers; And, save my own, Under the paling lamp I hear no breathing: — I am alone! But there are yellow bruises on my body And violet stains; Though no white vampire came with lips blood-crimsoned To suck my veins! Now I bethink me of a sweet, weird story That in the dark Our dead loves thus with seal of chilly kisses Our bodies mark. Gliding beneath the coverings of our couches...
243 psl. - But one night, the window was open, the birds were twittering in the park, the night wind sighed harmoniously; there was so much music in the air that they could not resist the temptation to sing a duet which they had composed the night before.
241 psl. - Isabeau's melodies, and began to improvise some very pretty ones themselves. The two cousins lived more and more in solitude, and at night strains of supernal melody were heard to issue from their chamber.