Collected PoemsK. Paul, Trench, Trübner & Company, Limited, 1913 - 678 páginas |
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Página 91
... fear , than rhymes , More idle things than songs , absorb it ; The " finely - frenzied " eye , at times , Reposes mildly in its orbit ; And - painful truth - at times , to him , Whose jog - trot thought is nowise restive , " A primrose ...
... fear , than rhymes , More idle things than songs , absorb it ; The " finely - frenzied " eye , at times , Reposes mildly in its orbit ; And - painful truth - at times , to him , Whose jog - trot thought is nowise restive , " A primrose ...
Página 110
... fear , are few , " ( Cynics would say twere well if they were fewer ) ; " I am not what I seem , " - ( indeed , ' tis true ; Though , as a sentiment , it might be newer ) ; " Mine is a soul whose deeper feelings lie More deep than words ...
... fear , are few , " ( Cynics would say twere well if they were fewer ) ; " I am not what I seem , " - ( indeed , ' tis true ; Though , as a sentiment , it might be newer ) ; " Mine is a soul whose deeper feelings lie More deep than words ...
Página 121
... you trod the Sacred Street , And tacked from mortål fear to meet The bore Crispinus ; Or , by your cold Digentia , set The web of winter birding - net . Ours is so far - advanced an age ! Sensation 121 To Q. H. F. To Q H.
... you trod the Sacred Street , And tacked from mortål fear to meet The bore Crispinus ; Or , by your cold Digentia , set The web of winter birding - net . Ours is so far - advanced an age ! Sensation 121 To Q. H. F. To Q H.
Página 125
... fear , you frankly add , " to find In me too late the altered mind That altering Time estranges . " To this I make response that we ( As physiologists agree ) Must have septennial changes ; This is a thing beyond control , And it were ...
... fear , you frankly add , " to find In me too late the altered mind That altering Time estranges . " To this I make response that we ( As physiologists agree ) Must have septennial changes ; This is a thing beyond control , And it were ...
Página 139
... fears to quibble , Some gilded fop , or mincing courtier - fribble , Slips smartly in , -and gets the proffered crumb . He should have all my crumbs - if he'd but ask ; Nay , an he would , it were no hopeless task To gain a something ...
... fears to quibble , Some gilded fop , or mincing courtier - fribble , Slips smartly in , -and gets the proffered crumb . He should have all my crumbs - if he'd but ask ; Nay , an he would , it were no hopeless task To gain a something ...
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Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Ann Radcliffe Autonoë BALLAD Bard BEAU BEAU BROCADE beauty beneath bird blue Caliph CARDENIO cheek Child comes Cupid's Alley Cyclops dance dead dear DENISE Dolly doubt dreams E'en eyes face fair fancy fate flowers garden grace green grew hair hand head heard heart hope jelick JOLICŒUR knew ladies of St LADY laughing light lips little Blue-Ribbons look Love Love's LYRE maid Megalopolis MOLIÈRE Molly Trefusis Monsieur morning Muse naught o'er old Sedan chair OMAR KHAYYÁM once pain pass Perchance Phyllida play POET poor POPE praise PROCRIS pure song rhyme Rose round Savignac scarce seemed sing smile song soul Squire stirred strange surely sweet tale tears thee Theocritus There's thing thou thought thrush to-day turned Twas twixt verse wait watch weary wind-flowers words yore young youth
Pasajes populares
Página 488 - Picture above, if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew, — This was the Pompadour's fan! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the...
Página 316 - Blest! — but more blest, whom Summer's heat, Whom Spring's impulsive stir and beat, Have taught no feverish lure; Whose Muse, benignant and serene, Still keeps his Autumn chaplet green Because his verse is pure! Lie calm, O white and laureate head! Lie calm, O Dead, that art not dead, Since from the voiceless grave, Thy voice shall speak to old and young While song yet speaks an English tongue By Charles' or Thamis
Página 95 - If I were you! Frank. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer Whiff of the best, — the mildest honey-dew, I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer, If I were you! Nellie. If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter, Even to write the "Cynical Review"! Frank. No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter, If I were you! Nellie.
Página 217 - Cure down the street Comes with his kind old face — With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place," And the tiny
Página 482 - Like a bud ere it blows, You just peeped at the sky, When I saw you last, Rose! Now your petals unclose, Now your May-time is nigh; — How fast the time goes! And a life, — how it grows! You were scarcely so shy, When I saw you last, Rose!
Página 94 - TFI were you, when ladies at the play, sir, Beckon and nod, a melodrama through, I would not turn abstractedly away, sir, If I were you ! FRANK. If I were you, when persons I affected, Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would, at least, pretend I recollected, If I were you ! NELLIE. If I were you, when ladies are so lavish, Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two, I would not dance with odious Miss M'Tavish If I were you I FRANK. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer Whiff of the best,...
Página 486 - Damosels — Dames, be piteous ! " (But the dames rode fast by the roadway trees.) " Hear us, O Knights magnanimous ! " (But the knights pricked on in their panoplies.) Nothing they gat or of hope or ease, But only to beat on the breast and say : — " Life we drank to the dregs and lees ; Give us — ah ! give us — but Yesterday !
Página 161 - A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS. WHEN Spring comes laughing By vale and hill, By wind-flower walking And daffodil, — Sing stars of morning, Sing morning skies, Sing blue of speedwell, — And my Love's eyes. When comes the Summer, Full-leaved and strong, And gay birds gossip The orchard long, — Sing hid, sweet honey That no bee sips ; Sing red, red roses, — And my Love's lips.
Página 484 - SINGER of the field and fold, THEOCRITUS ! Pan's pipe was thine, • Thine was the happier Age of Gold. For thee the scent of new-turned mould, The bee-hives, and the murmuring pine, O Singer of the field and fold ! Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old, — The beechen bowl made glad with wine Thine was the happier Age of Gold.
Página 569 - Fame is a food that dead men eat, — I have no stomach for such meat. In little light and narrow room, They eat it in the silent tomb, With no kind voice of comrade near To bid the banquet be of cheer.