Old-world Idylls: And Other VersesKegan Paul, Trench & Company, 1885 - 245 psl. |
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xiii psl.
... face of Patience Caryl , - The pale , smooth forehead , silver - tressed ; The gray gown , primly flowered ; The spotless , stately coif whose crest Like Hector's horse - plume towered ; And still the sweet half - solemn look Where some ...
... face of Patience Caryl , - The pale , smooth forehead , silver - tressed ; The gray gown , primly flowered ; The spotless , stately coif whose crest Like Hector's horse - plume towered ; And still the sweet half - solemn look Where some ...
xiii psl.
... faces grow more fair As Point and Flanders yellow ; Whom some old store of garnered grief , Their placid temples shading , Crowns like a wreath of autumn leaf With tender tints of fading . Peace to your soul ! You died unwed- Despite ...
... faces grow more fair As Point and Flanders yellow ; Whom some old store of garnered grief , Their placid temples shading , Crowns like a wreath of autumn leaf With tender tints of fading . Peace to your soul ! You died unwed- Despite ...
xiii psl.
... face Filled with a fine , old - fashioned grace , Fresh - coloured , frank , with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded ; The eyes are blue , the hair is drest In plainest way , -one hand is prest Deep in a flapped canary vest , With buds ...
... face Filled with a fine , old - fashioned grace , Fresh - coloured , frank , with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded ; The eyes are blue , the hair is drest In plainest way , -one hand is prest Deep in a flapped canary vest , With buds ...
15 psl.
... face , in which surprise Is seldom seen , but yet there lies Some vestige of the laughing eyes Of arch Piozzi . For her e'en Time grew debonair . He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And ...
... face , in which surprise Is seldom seen , but yet there lies Some vestige of the laughing eyes Of arch Piozzi . For her e'en Time grew debonair . He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And ...
28 psl.
... face . GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea : JOHN had a fit - of perplexity ; Turned King's evidence , sad to state ; - But JOHN was never immaculate . As for the BEAU , he was duly tried , When his wound was healed , at Whitsuntide ...
... face . GEORGE the Guard fled over the sea : JOHN had a fit - of perplexity ; Turned King's evidence , sad to state ; - But JOHN was never immaculate . As for the BEAU , he was duly tried , When his wound was healed , at Whitsuntide ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Autonoë BABETTE BALLAD OF BEAU BARON BEAU BROCADE beauty Belle Marquise BEN JONSON bird blue Boucher bright eyes brow Caliph CHALCEDONY CIRCE comes COUNTESS Cupid's Alley dance dead dear DENISE DOLLY Dorothy dream E'en eyes face fair flowers FRANÇOIS BOUCHER FRANK garden grace gray grew heart Here's a present IDYLL intended an Ode king more terrible kissed me to-day knew L'ÉTOILE last year's nest laughing LAWRENCE London stones look Love Love's M'sieu Madam Maid Monsieur Muse myrtle twine Naught but myrtle NINETTE NINON o'er once PLATO POET present for Rose PRINCESS PROCRIS rhyme RONDEAU saw you last School of Coquettes sigh sing smile Stand and Deliver stirred sweet terrible than Death THEOCRITUS There's a tear thing thou thought thrush TRIOLETS turned Twas twixt vacant dwelling VIEUXBOIS VILLANELLE watch weary wind-flower yore
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205 psl. - All passes. ART alone Enduring stays to us ; The Bust out-lasts the throne, The Coin, Tiberius ; Even the gods must go ; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o'erthrow, Not long array of time.
237 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows, And the jasmine-stars...
212 psl. - Love comes back to his vacant dwelling The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. " He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie, as he lay before ; Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
204 psl. - When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, More potent far the spell. O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin strait and terse; Leave to the tyro's hand The limp and shapeless style; See that thy form demand The labor of the file.
99 psl. - If I were you ! FRANK. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer Whiff of the best, the mildest ' honey-dew,' I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer, If I were you ! NELLIE. If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter, Even to write the ' Cynical Review ; ' FRANK. No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter, If I were you ! NELLIE.
17 psl. - WHITEFIELD preached to the colliers grim, Bishops in lawn sleeves preached at him ; WALPOLE talked of " a man and his price " ; Nobody's virtue was over-nice : Those, in fine, were the brave days when Coaches were stopped by . . Highwaymen ! And of all the knights of the gentle trade Nobody bolder than
225 psl. - SINGER of the field and fold, THEOCRITUS ! Pan's pipe was thine, Thine was the happier Age of Gold. For thee the scent of new-turned mould, The bee-hives, and the murmuring pine, O Singer of the field and fold,! Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old, The beechen bowl made glad with wine . . Thine was the happier Age of Gold.
xiii psl. - ... wears a brown old Brunswick coat, With silver buttons, round his throat, A soft cravat ; in all you note An elder fashion, A strangeness, which, to us who shine In shapely hats, whose coats combine All harmonies of hue and line, Inspires compassion. He lived so long ago, you see ! Men were untravelled then, but we, Like Ariel, post o'er land and sea With careless parting ; He found it quite enough for him To smoke his pipe in "garden trim," And watch, about the fish tank's brim,...
175 psl. - How sweet with you on some green sod To wreathe the rustic garden-god ; How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade With you to weave a basket-braid ; To watch across the stricken chords Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee ; To woo you in soft woodland words, With woodland pipe, Autonoe...
xiii psl. - Tis a long Lane that has no turning,' John ! " Only till Sunday next, and then you'll wait Behind the White-Thorn, by the broken Stile . We can go round and catch them at the Gate, All to Ourselves, for nearly one long Mile ; Dear Prue won't look, and Father...