Recollections of a Literary Life: And Selections from My Favourite Poets and Prose Writers

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Bentley, 1883 - 516 страници
 

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Страница 61 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian. Whose portal we call Death.
Страница 295 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Страница 185 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Страница 87 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, , bring again, ' . -' Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. seal'd in vain.
Страница 167 - Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
Страница 226 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Страница 185 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Страница 368 - Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? — God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Страница 293 - What thou art we know not : what is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden in the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.
Страница 296 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

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