Essays

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W. Heinemann, 1896 - 312 страници
This collection of essays includes an examination of Christina Rossetti.
 

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Страница 275 - Does the road wind up-hill all the way ? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place ? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face ? You cannot miss that inn.
Страница 196 - There are in this loud stunning tide Of human care and crime, With whom the melodies abide Of the everlasting chime ; Who carry music in their heart Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily task with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
Страница 169 - Felpham is a sweet place for study, because it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides her golden gates : her windows are not obstructed by vapours ; voices of celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard and their forms more distinctly seen ; and my cottage is also a shadow of their houses.
Страница 83 - Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould.
Страница 83 - Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit, And all that was improper dost omit : So that no room is here for writers left, But to detect their ignorance or theft.
Страница 75 - Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Страница 285 - Her pleasant lot. She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs. Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings. Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast; Her face is toward the west, The purple land. She cannot see the grain Ripening on hill and plain ; She cannot feel the rain Upon her hand. Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore ; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till time...
Страница 272 - BIRTHDAY. My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot ; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit ; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea ; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me.
Страница 196 - WHEN God of old came down from Heaven, In power and wrath He came ; Before His feet the clouds were riven, Half darkness and half flame : Around the trembling mountain's base The prostrate people lay ; A day of wrath, and not of grace ; A dim and dreadful day.
Страница 214 - ... (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England), such an up and down Of verdure, — nothing too much up or down, A ripple of land ; such little hills, the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb ; Such nooks of valleys lined with orchises, Fed full of noises by invisible streams ; And open pastures where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew, — at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade, — I thought...

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