Vers de SociétéH. Holt, 1875 - 401 psl. |
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v psl.
... precise English equivalent renders necessary , it may be as well to observe that vers de société need by no means be confined to tepics of artificial life . Subjects of 290758 : PREFACE . the most exalted and of the most trivial V.
... precise English equivalent renders necessary , it may be as well to observe that vers de société need by no means be confined to tepics of artificial life . Subjects of 290758 : PREFACE . the most exalted and of the most trivial V.
120 psl.
... mean to take the knocker off , Put crape upon the door , Or hint to John that I am gone To stay a month or more . I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes , But Heaven defend me from the friend Who never , never goes ! " DO ...
... mean to take the knocker off , Put crape upon the door , Or hint to John that I am gone To stay a month or more . I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes , But Heaven defend me from the friend Who never , never goes ! " DO ...
133 psl.
... - our own , I mean , As well as that of other people . They cannot be complete in aught Who are not humorously prone , — A man without a merry thought Can hardly have a funny bone . REPLY TO A LETTER . To say I hate your 133.
... - our own , I mean , As well as that of other people . They cannot be complete in aught Who are not humorously prone , — A man without a merry thought Can hardly have a funny bone . REPLY TO A LETTER . To say I hate your 133.
135 psl.
... means That these Boots are Geraldine's- Think of that ! Oh where did hunter win So delectable a skin For her feet ? You lucky little kid , You perish'd , so you did , For my sweet ! MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS . The faery stitching gleams On ...
... means That these Boots are Geraldine's- Think of that ! Oh where did hunter win So delectable a skin For her feet ? You lucky little kid , You perish'd , so you did , For my sweet ! MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS . The faery stitching gleams On ...
146 psl.
... means You then were midway in the teens That I was crowning ; We never spoke , but when I smiled At morn or eve , I know , dear child , You were not frowning . Each morning when we met , I think One sentiment us both did link , Nor joy ...
... means You then were midway in the teens That I was crowning ; We never spoke , but when I smiled At morn or eve , I know , dear child , You were not frowning . Each morning when we met , I think One sentiment us both did link , Nor joy ...
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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 gone good-night hair hand happy hear heart HENRY LUTTRELL IRISH EYES kiss lady laugh LAWRENCE LETTICE WHITE light Lilian lips LITTLE GERTY look 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
75 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,
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.
71 psl. - Man wants but little here below." Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone (A very plain brown stone will do, That I may 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!
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.
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.
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.
284 psl. - Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June.