Vers de SociétéH. Holt, 1876 - 400 psl. |
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15 psl.
... flowers , - My own Araminta , say " No ! " He must walk - like a god of old story Come down from the home of his rest ; He must smile - like the sun in his glory On the buds he loves ever the best ; And oh ! from its ivory portal Like ...
... flowers , - My own Araminta , say " No ! " He must walk - like a god of old story Come down from the home of his rest ; He must smile - like the sun in his glory On the buds he loves ever the best ; And oh ! from its ivory portal Like ...
19 psl.
... flowers It shuts out the sunshine of truth : It blights the green leaves in the bowers , It makes an old age of our youth ; And the flow of our feeling , once in it , Like a streamlet beginning to freeze , Though it cannot turn ice in a ...
... flowers It shuts out the sunshine of truth : It blights the green leaves in the bowers , It makes an old age of our youth ; And the flow of our feeling , once in it , Like a streamlet beginning to freeze , Though it cannot turn ice in a ...
28 psl.
... flower to you is fair ; And every month is May : You've not been introduced to Care , - Laugh on , laugh on to - day ! Old Time will fling his clouds ere long Upon those sunny ' eyes ; The voice whose every word is song , Will set ...
... flower to you is fair ; And every month is May : You've not been introduced to Care , - Laugh on , laugh on to - day ! Old Time will fling his clouds ere long Upon those sunny ' eyes ; The voice whose every word is song , Will set ...
41 psl.
... flowers no force can sever ; And Modesty , who , when she goes , Is gone , forever ! PLAYS . ALAS , how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover ! And how much narrower is the stage Alloted us to play the sage ! But when ...
... flowers no force can sever ; And Modesty , who , when she goes , Is gone , forever ! PLAYS . ALAS , how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover ! And how much narrower is the stage Alloted us to play the sage ! But when ...
180 psl.
... flower with silvery dew- My infallible proceeding Is to wake , and think of you . When the hunter's ringing bugle Sounds farewell to field and copse , LINES SUGGESTED BY 14th FEBRUARY . And I sit before 180 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE ...
... flower with silvery dew- My infallible proceeding Is to wake , and think of you . When the hunter's ringing bugle Sounds farewell to field and copse , LINES SUGGESTED BY 14th FEBRUARY . And I sit before 180 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ALFRED TENNYSON ANGORA CAT Araminta AUTUMN IDYL beauty beneath bird bliss blue bosom Bouillabaisse BRAZEN HEAD bright Burnham-beeches cane-bottom'd chair cheek Christmas in Town CLAUDE TILLIER COLERAINE dance dear Dorothy dreams fair To fill fill my glass flower FRANK friends GARDEN IDYL girl glove glow good-night hair hand happy hear heart HENRY LUTTRELL IRISH EYES kiss lady laugh LAWRENCE LETTICE WHITE light Lilian lips LITTLE GERTY look MAHOGANY-TREE maid Miss morning MORTIMER COLLINS neighbor Nelly never o'er once PALL MALL perhaps pleasant pleasure poet poor pretty reason fair rhyme rose ROSE SONG round scarce sigh Sing heigh-ho smile soft song soul SPECTATOR AB EXTRA spends his Christmas sweet talk tears tell tender thee There's think's a reason THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY thou thought tree TU QUOQUE Twas vers de société vex'd wife wind youth
Populiarios ištraukos
76 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.
285 psl. - Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips, the smile of truth. Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.
255 psl. - A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate That flush'd her spirit: I know not by what name beside I shall it call: if 'twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied She did inherit.
100 psl. - Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, .as now I'm sitting, In this same place — but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me — There's no one now to share my cup.
72 psl. - ... call my own; — And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; — If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! I always thought cold victual nice; — My choice would be vanilla-ice.
9 psl. - Our love was like most other loves, — A little glow, a little shiver, A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted; A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, — and then we parted.
77 psl. - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
74 psl. - Turner, and no more. (A landscape, foreground golden dirt, The sunshine painted with a squirt). Of books but few — some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor; Some little luxury there Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream.
111 psl. - Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Night-birds are we; Here we carouse, Singing, like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short— When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree.
81 psl. - MY AUNT. MY aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! Long years have o'er her flown ; Yet still she strains the aching clasp That binds her virgin zone ; I know it hurts her, — though she looks As cheerful as she can ; Her waist is ampler than her life, For life is but a span.