To-day, Volum 9

Portada
1922
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Passatges populars

PÓgina 61 - The corn was orient and immortal wheat, which never should be reaped, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world.
PÓgina 33 - Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.
PÓgina 67 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
PÓgina 61 - You never enjoy the world aright till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars, and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you.
PÓgina 67 - Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening know.
PÓgina 8 - Oblivion is not to be hired: the greater part must be content to be as though they had not been, to be found in the Register of God, not in the record of man.
PÓgina 9 - WITH love exceeding a simple love of the things That glide in grasses and rubble of woody wreck; Or change their perch on a beat of quivering wings From branch to branch, only restful to pipe and peck; Or, bristled, curl at a touch their snouts in a ball; Or cast their web between bramble and thorny hook; The good physician Melampus, loving them all, Among them walked, as a scholar who reads a book.
PÓgina 2 - I have no other choice Either for pen or voice To sing or write. 0 Love ! they wrong thee much That say thy sweet is bitter, When thy rich fruit is such As nothing can be sweeter. Fair house of joy and bliss, Where truest pleasure is, I do adore thee : I know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, And fall before thee ! Anon.
PÓgina 60 - WONDER How like an Angel came I down ! How bright are all things here...
PÓgina 21 - Sure thou didst flourish once ! and many Springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Past ore thy head : many light Hearts and Wings Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies ; Fresh Groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still enduring skies, While the low Violet thrives at their root.

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