The Doctor's Window: Poems by the Doctor, for the Doctor, and about the Doctor

Priekinis viršelis
Ina Russelle Warren
C. W. Moulton, 1897 - 288 psl.
0 Apžvalgos
Atsiliepimai nepatvirtinti, bet „Google“ ieško netikro turinio ir jį šalina, jei jis aptinkamas

Knygos viduje

Ką žmonės sako - Rašyti recenziją

Neradome recenzijų įprastose vietose.

Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską

Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės

Populiarios ištraukos

282 psl. - Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on wealth or fame.
126 psl. - Not far from that most celebrated place,* Where angry Justice shows her awful face: Where little villains must submit to fate, That great ones may enjoy the world in state; There stands a dome, majestic to the sight, And sumptuous arches bear Its oval height: A golden globe, placed high with artful skill, Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill.
186 psl. - What does not fade ? The tower that long had stood The crush of thunder and the warring winds, Shook by the slow but sure destroyer Time, Now hangs in doubtful ruins o'er its base.
268 psl. - Some had shoes, but all had rifles, Them that wasn't bald was beardless, And the drum was rolling Dixie, And they stepped to it like men, sir ! ' Rags and tatters, belts and bayonets, On they swung, the drum a-rolling, Mum and sour. It looked like fighting, And they meant it too, by thunder ! ' XXII PASTORAL IT'S the Spring.
269 psl. - May, . Visibly blessing the world. O the brilliance of blossoming orchards ! O the savour and thrill of the woods, When their leafage is stirred By the flight of the angel of rain ! Loud lows the steer ; in the fallows Rooks are alert; and the brooks Gurgle and tinkle and trill. Thro' the gloaming, Under the rare, shy stars, Boy and girl wander Dreaming in darkness and dew.
82 psl. - — his name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade — which oftentimes will genius fetter — read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the Belles Lettres.
256 psl. - BEHOLD me waiting — waiting for the knife. A little while, and at a leap I storm The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform, The drunken dark, the little death-in-life. The gods are good to me: I have no wife, No innocent child, to think of as I near The fateful minute; nothing ail-too dear Unmans me for my bout of passive strife.
260 psl. - SOME three, or five, or seven, and thirty years; A Roman nose ; a dimpling double-chin; Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin, Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears ; A comely shape ; a slim, high-coloured hand, Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring ; A bashful air, becoming everything ; A well-bred silence always at command. Her plain print gown, prim cap, and bright steel chain Look out of place on her, and I remain Absorbed in her, as in a pleasant mystery. Quick, skilful, quiet,...
80 psl. - twas dearer to its first employer ! I thought mortality did well to keep Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer. Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin ; Here lips were woo'd, perhaps, in transport tender ; Some may have chuck'd what was a dimpled chin, And never had my doubt about its gender. Did she live yesterday or ages back ? What...
282 psl. - Twas a skull Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat: This space was Thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot! What dreams of pleasure long forgot! Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this moldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye; But start not at the dismal void. If social love that eye employed...

Bibliografinė informacija