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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12 psl.
... draw him home to those that mourn In vain ; a favourable speed Ruffle thy mirror'd mast , and lead Thro ' prosperous floods his holy urn . All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel , till Phosphor , bright As our pure love , thro ...
... draw him home to those that mourn In vain ; a favourable speed Ruffle thy mirror'd mast , and lead Thro ' prosperous floods his holy urn . All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel , till Phosphor , bright As our pure love , thro ...
33 psl.
... tears that 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.
... tears that 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.
44 psl.
... of sloth , Nor any want - begotten rest . I hold it true , whate'er befall ; I feel it , when I sorrow most ; ' Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all . XXVIII . THE time draws near the birth of Christ 44.
... of sloth , Nor any want - begotten rest . I hold it true , whate'er befall ; I feel it , when I sorrow most ; ' Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all . XXVIII . THE time draws near the birth of Christ 44.
45 psl.
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. XXVIII . 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 ...
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. XXVIII . 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 ...
49 psl.
... , from veil to veil . Rise , happy morn , rise holy morn , Draw forth the cheerful day from night : O Father ! touch the east , and light The light that shone when Hope was born . ' E XXXI . WHEN Lazarus left his charnel - cave , 49.
... , from veil to veil . Rise , happy morn , rise holy morn , Draw forth the cheerful day from night : O Father ! touch the east , and light The light that shone when Hope was born . ' E XXXI . WHEN Lazarus left his charnel - cave , 49.
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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.