The Story of the World's LiteratureHorace Liveright, 1925 - 613 страници |
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A. C. Swinburne American ancient Arnold artist beauty Bible biography Cæsar CHAPTER character Christian classic comedy contemporaries critic Dante drama dramatists eighteenth century Elizabethan Emerson England English literature English poetry English poets epic essay Europe F. G. Fleay fiction France French genius George George Sand German Goethe Greek Hawthorne hero historians Homer human humor Ibsen ideas important interest Italian J. A. Symonds Johnson Joseph Conrad language later Latin learned Letters literary lived Loeb Class lyric Mark Twain master masterpiece Matthew Arnold Milton modern Molière narrative never nineteenth century novel novelist philosophy plays poems poet poetic poetry prose R. C. Jebb Ralph Waldo Emerson Renaissance romance satire scholars sense Shakespeare song Spanish spirit story Studies style Swinburne things Thomas thought tion trans translation verse vigorous Virgil W. D. Howells word writers written wrote
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Страница 269 - Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust ; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust ! ELIZABETHAN MISCELLANIES.
Страница 334 - Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies £ Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
Страница 296 - We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Страница 550 - If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky.
Страница 272 - If all the pens that ever poets held Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts, And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds, and muses on admired themes ; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit ; If these had made one poem's period, And all...
Страница 334 - TIGER, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors...
Страница 379 - Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Страница 279 - When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope...
Страница 391 - When I am dead, my dearest. Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.
Страница 383 - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.