The Cambridge History of English Literature: The nineteenth century. IISir Adolphus William Ward, Alfred Rayney Waller The University Press, 1916 |
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Página 100 - For, while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
Página 100 - that every struggle brings defeat Because Fate holds no prize to crown success; That all the oracles are dumb or cheat Because they have no secret to express; That none can pierce the vast black veil uncertain Because there is no light behind the curtain; That all is vanity and nothingness.
Página 37 - a tide as moving seems asleep, Too fall for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. The
Página 28 - The lilies to and fro, and said 'The dawn, the dawn,' and died away; And East and West, without a breath, Mixt their dim lights, like life and death, To broaden into boundless day.
Página 22 - gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot, She moved her lips, she prayed alone, She praying disarrayed and warm From slumber, deep her wavy form In the darklustrous mirror shone. "Madonna," in a low, clear tone Said Mariana, night and morn, Low she mourned, " I am all alone, Love-forgotten, and love-forlorn,
Página 22 - Camelot, There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot, She
Página 407 - Though earth and man were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee; for, in
Página 4 - Love not Pleasure; love God. This is the Everlasting Yea, wherein all contradiction is solved; wherein whoso walks and works, it is well with him,
Página 35 - What is it all, if we all of us end but in being our own corpse-coffins at last, Swallow'd in Vastness, lost in Silence, drown'd in the deeps of a meaningless Past?
Página 30 - Thus on he prattled like a babbling brook, Then I, " The sun hath slipt behind the hill, And my Aunt Vivian dines at half-past six." So in all love we parted; I to the Hall, They to the village. It was noised next noon That chickens had been miss'd at Syllabub Farm.