The New Review, Volume 15

Voorkant
Longmans, Green, 1896
 

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Inhoudsopgave

Overige edities - Alles weergeven

Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen

Populaire passages

Pagina 23 - The moving Moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide; Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside...
Pagina 517 - Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil. Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer - some...
Pagina 73 - One seem'd all dark and red— a tract of sand, And some one pacing there alone, Who paced for ever in a glimmering land, Lit with a low large moon.
Pagina 89 - OUT of the deep, my child, out of the deep, From that great deep before our world begins Whereon the Spirit of God moves as he will — Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, From that true world within the world we see, Whereof our world is but the bounding shore...
Pagina 21 - I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling ; And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel ; And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
Pagina 718 - tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be — My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness...
Pagina 77 - Stranger ! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride*< Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness ; that he, who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used ; that thought with him Is in its infancy.
Pagina 23 - The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.
Pagina 25 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear: If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, • Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
Pagina 27 - Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.

Bibliografische gegevens