New Studies in Literature

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K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & Company, Limited, 1895 - 451 páginas

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Página 416 - Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, — an excellent thing in woman.
Página 345 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Página 344 - How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos'd by your senses five?
Página 60 - Was it not great? did not he throw on God (He loves the burthen) God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen ? Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant?
Página 326 - It is a father's tale : But if that Heaven Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up Familiar with these songs, that with the night He may associate joy ! Once more farewell, Sweet Nightingale ! Once more my friends ! farewell.
Página 118 - I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born. I cannot think that he, who then loved most, Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn. But since this god produced a destiny, And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be, I must love her that loves not me.
Página 65 - He is taller, by almost the breadth of my nail, than any of his court ; which alone is enough to strike an awe into the beholders.
Página 344 - In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the Stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward ; and everywhere the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.
Página 319 - A GREEN and silent spot, amid the hills, A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place No singing sky-lark ever poised himself. The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope, Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, All golden with the never-bloomless furze, Which now blooms most profusely : but the dell, Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate As vernal cornfield, or the unripe flax, When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve, The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Página 350 - All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And...

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