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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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 32
1 psl.
... dead selves to higher things . But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match ? Or reach a hand thro ' time to catch The far - off interest of tears ? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd , Let darkness keep ...
... dead selves to higher things . But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match ? Or reach a hand thro ' time to catch The far - off interest of tears ? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd , Let darkness keep ...
2 psl.
... dead , Thy fibres net the dreamless head ; Thy roots are wrapt about the bones . The seasons bring the flower again , And bring the firstling to the flock ; And in the dusk of thee , the clock Beats out the little lives of men . O not ...
... dead , Thy fibres net the dreamless head ; Thy roots are wrapt about the bones . The seasons bring the flower again , And bring the firstling to the flock ; And in the dusk of thee , the clock Beats out the little lives of men . O not ...
17 psl.
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Calm on the seas , and silver sleep , And waves that sway themselves in rest , And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep . c XII . Lo ! as a dove when up she 17.
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Calm on the seas , and silver sleep , And waves that sway themselves in rest , And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep . c XII . Lo ! as a dove when up she 17.
26 psl.
... dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven ? Or has the shock , so harshly given , Confus'd me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf , And staggers blindly ere she sink ? And stunn'd me ...
... dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven ? Or has the shock , so harshly given , Confus'd me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf , And staggers blindly ere she sink ? And stunn'd me ...
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.
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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.