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.
... 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 her music in ...
... 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 her music in ...
28 psl.
... whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas . For I in spirit saw thee move Thro ' circles of the bounding sky ; Week after week : the days go by : Come quick , thou bringest all I love . Henceforth , wherever thou may'st roam ...
... whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas . For I in spirit saw thee move Thro ' circles of the bounding sky ; Week after week : the days go by : Come quick , thou bringest all I love . Henceforth , wherever thou may'st roam ...
57 psl.
... whisper sweet About the ledges of the hill . ' And my Melpomene replies , A touch of shame upon her cheek : I am not worthy but to speak Of thy prevailing mysteries ; For I am but an earthly Muse , And owning but a little art To lull ...
... whisper sweet About the ledges of the hill . ' And my Melpomene replies , A touch of shame upon her cheek : I am not worthy but to speak Of thy prevailing mysteries ; For I am but an earthly Muse , And owning but a little art To lull ...
88 psl.
... decrees , And shape the whisper of the throne ; And moving up from high to higher , Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope The pillar of a people's hope , The centre of a world's desire ; Yet feels , as in a pensive dream , When 88.
... decrees , And shape the whisper of the throne ; And moving up from high to higher , Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope The pillar of a people's hope , The centre of a world's desire ; Yet feels , as in a pensive dream , When 88.
98 psl.
... to the shower ; Who might'st have heaved a windless flame Up the deep East , or , whispering , play'd A chequer - work of beam and shade From hill to hill , yet look'd the same , As wan , as chill , as wild as now 98.
... to the shower ; Who might'st have heaved a windless flame Up the deep East , or , whispering , play'd A chequer - work of beam and shade From hill to hill , yet look'd the same , As wan , as chill , as wild as now 98.
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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.