The Princess: A Medley

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W. D. Ticknor, 1848 - 168 sider
 

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Side 70 - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Side 71 - Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others ; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Side 161 - Then comes the statelier Eden back to men : Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm : Then springs the crowning race of human-kind. May these things be ! " Sighing she spoke "I fear They will not.
Side 161 - Dear, but let us type them now In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest Of equal; seeing either sex alone Is half itself, and in true marriage lies Nor equal, nor unequal : each fulfils Defect in each, and always thought in thought, Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, The single pure and perfect animal, The two-cell'd heart beating, with one full stroke, Life.
Side 154 - My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips ; Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose Glowing all over noble shame ; and all Her falser self slipt from her like a. robe, And left her woman, lovelier in her mood Than in her mould that other, when she came From barren deeps to conquer all with love ; And down the streaming crystal dropt ; and she Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, Naked, a double light in air and wave, To meet her Graces, where they...
Side 157 - And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, Or red with spirted purple of the vats, Or foxlike in the vine ; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the silver horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : But follow; let the torrent dance...
Side 74 - O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made. O tell her, brief is life but love is long And brief the sun of summer in the North And brief the moon of beauty in the South. O Swallow, flying from the golden woods Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine. And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
Side 160 - For woman is not undevelopt man, . But diverse : could we make her as the man, Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care...
Side 71 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, 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.
Side 51 - Rest, rest, on mother's breast. Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon : Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. Morn in the white wake of the morning star Came furrowing all the orient into gold. We rose, and each by other drest with care Descended to the court that lay three parts In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touch'd Above the darkness from their native East.

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