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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41 psl.
... past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far ; And orb into the perfect star We saw not , when we moved therein ? XXV . I KNOW that this was Life , -the 41.
... past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far ; And orb into the perfect star We saw not , when we moved therein ? XXV . I KNOW that this was Life , -the 41.
65 psl.
... past Be all the colour of the flower : So then were nothing lost to man ; But that still garden of the souls In many a figured leaf enrolls The total world since life began : And love would last as pure and whole As when he loved me ...
... past Be all the colour of the flower : So then were nothing lost to man ; But that still garden of the souls In many a figured leaf enrolls The total world since life began : And love would last as pure and whole As when he loved me ...
68 psl.
... past ; A lifelong tract of time reveal'd ; The fruitful hours of still increase ; Days order'd in a wealthy peace , And those five years its richest field . O Love ! thy province were not large , A bounded field , nor stretching far ...
... past ; A lifelong tract of time reveal'd ; The fruitful hours of still increase ; Days order'd in a wealthy peace , And those five years its richest field . O Love ! thy province were not large , A bounded field , nor stretching far ...
83 psl.
... they shall cease . The high Muse answer'd : ' Wherefore grieve Thy brethren with a fruitless tear ? Abide a little longer here , And thou shalt take a nobler leave . ' LVIII . HE past ; a soul of nobler tone G 2 83 LVII. ...
... they shall cease . The high Muse answer'd : ' Wherefore grieve Thy brethren with a fruitless tear ? Abide a little longer here , And thou shalt take a nobler leave . ' LVIII . HE past ; a soul of nobler tone G 2 83 LVII. ...
84 psl.
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. LVIII . HE past ; a soul of nobler tone : My spirit loved and loves him yet , Like some poor girl whose heart is set On one whose rank exceeds her own . He mixing with his proper sphere , She finds the ...
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. LVIII . HE past ; a soul of nobler tone : My spirit loved and loves him yet , Like some poor girl whose heart is set On one whose rank exceeds her own . He mixing with his proper sphere , She finds the ...
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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.