Andrew Marvell

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Macmillan & Company, Limited, 1905 - 242 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 45 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Pàgina 89 - ... a Liberty to Tender Consciences and that no man shall be disquieted or called in question for differences of opinion in matters of religion which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom...
Pàgina 47 - But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near, And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Pàgina 46 - Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
Pàgina 45 - While all flowers and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence, thy sister dear? Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men.
Pàgina 66 - Did clap their bloody hands ; He nothing common did, or mean, Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; Nor called the gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right, But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Pàgina 21 - Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he Should only rule who most resembles me. Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, Mature in dulness from his tender years ; Shadwell alone of all my sons is he Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Pàgina 44 - Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines ; Curl me about, ye gadding vines ; And oh so close your circles lace, That I may never leave this place : But lest your fetters prove too weak, Ere I your silken bondage break, Do you, O brambles, chain me too, And, courteous briars, nail me through.
Pàgina 74 - I saw him dead : a leaden slumber lies, And mortal sleep over those wakeful eyes ; Those gentle rays under the lids were fled, Which through his looks that piercing sweetness shed ; That port, which so majestic was and strong, Loose, and deprived of vigour, stretched along ; All withered, all...
Pàgina 228 - Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.

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