In Memoriam, 1 leidimasEdward Moxon, Dover street, 1850 - 210 psl. The famous requiem for the poet's good friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who died unexpectedly in 1833. "Tis better to have loved and lost," Tennyson writes, "than never to have loved at all." |
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3 psl.
... breath , What whispers from thy lying lip ? The stars , ' she whispers , blindly run ; A web is wov'n across the sky ; From out waste places comes a cry , And murmurs from the dying sun : And all the phantom , Nature , stands— With all ...
... breath , What whispers from thy lying lip ? The stars , ' she whispers , blindly run ; A web is wov'n across the sky ; From out waste places comes a cry , And murmurs from the dying sun : And all the phantom , Nature , stands— With all ...
20 psl.
... breathing voice . Come Time , and teach me many years Mine I do not suffer in a dream ; For now so strange do these things seem , eyes have leisure for their tears ; My fancies time to rise on wing , And glance 20 20.
... breathing voice . Come Time , and teach me many years Mine I do not suffer in a dream ; For now so strange do these things seem , eyes have leisure for their tears ; My fancies time to rise on wing , And glance 20 20.
30 psl.
... hear the ritual of the dead . Ah ! yet , ev'n yet , if this might be , I , falling on his faithful heart , Would breathing thro ' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me : That dies not , but endures with pain , And 30.
... hear the ritual of the dead . Ah ! yet , ev'n yet , if this might be , I , falling on his faithful heart , Would breathing thro ' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me : That dies not , but endures with pain , And 30.
33 psl.
... at their fountain freeze ; For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death , And scarce endure to draw the breath , Or like to noiseless phantoms flit : D But open converse is there none , So much the 3333.
... at their fountain freeze ; For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death , And scarce endure to draw the breath , Or like to noiseless phantoms flit : D But open converse is there none , So much the 3333.
56 psl.
... breath , and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds , More strong than all poetic thought ; Which he may read that binds the sheaf , Or builds the house , or digs the grave , And those wild eyes that ...
... breath , and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds , More strong than all poetic thought ; Which he may read that binds the sheaf , Or builds the house , or digs the grave , And those wild eyes that ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ambrosial beat Behold bells bliss blood bloom blow break breast breath brine bring brows calm chaff cloud cold crown'd Danube dark darken'd dead dear Death deep divine doubt dream dust dying earth ev'n evermore eyes fades fair faith faithless fall fall'n fancy fear flower gloom grave grief half hand happy happy days happy hour harp hath hear heart heaven hill hope Hope and Fear hour human land leaf leave light linnet lips lives look look'd love thee mind moon morn move Muse night o'er pain peace race regret rills Ring rise round seem'd Seraphic shade Shadow shore sing sleep song sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears thine things thou art thought thro touch touch'd trance trust truth unto voice walk'd weep whisper WHITEFRIARS wild wild bells wind wings wisdom words wrought yonder
Populiarios ištraukos
1 psl. - I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
76 psl. - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
81 psl. - Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed— Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, Or seal'd within the iron hills? No more? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
178 psl. - Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea...
88 psl. - Who breaks his birth's invidious bar, And grasps the skirts of happy chance, And breasts the blows of circumstance, And grapples with his evil star...
159 psl. - THE time draws near the birth of Christ : The moon is hid ; the night is still ; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound : Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace...
190 psl. - THERE rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen ! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands ; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
78 psl. - Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
77 psl. - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last— far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream ; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night ; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
101 psl. - As sometimes in a dead man's face, To those that watch it more and more, A likeness, hardly seen before, Comes out — to some one of his race; So, dearest, now thy brows are cold, I see thee what thou art, and know Thy likeness to the wise below, Thy kindred with the great of old.