The Three Heron's Feathers

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Poet-lore Company, 1900 - 234 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 240 - The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Here or There as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all — HE knows — HE knows!
Pàgina 317 - Sure tho* seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true endowments Stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing Or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing.
Pàgina 286 - I am made up of an intensest life, Of a most clear idea of consciousness Of self, distinct from all its qualities, From all affections, passions, feelings, powers...
Pàgina 261 - Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. POLONIUS. That's very true, my lord. HAMLET. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion — Have you a daughter? POLONIUS. I have, my lord. HAMLET. Let her not walk i
Pàgina 243 - I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap, Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails, Propels ; but I am helmsman.
Pàgina 278 - They called me theirs, Who so controlled me; Yet every one Wished to stay, and is gone, How am I theirs, If they cannot hold me, But I hold them?
Pàgina 250 - ... one of the lividly ludicrous, whom we cannot laugh at, but must contemplate, to distinguish where their character strikes the note of discord with life; for otherwise, in the reflection of their history, life will seem a thing demoniacally inclined by fits to antic and dive into gulfs.
Pàgina 243 - Tis morning: but no morning can restore What we have forfeited. I see no sin: The wrong is mixed. In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.
Pàgina 265 - Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?
Pàgina 274 - Let the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, feather'd king : Keep the obsequy so strict.

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