The Living Authors of England

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D. Appleton & Company, 1849 - 316 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 132 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Pàgina 53 - THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Pàgina 76 - Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect — (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.
Pàgina 42 - To-day I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie. "An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk : from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. "He dried his wings: like gauze they grew: Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew.
Pàgina 241 - Eternity, and some gleam of the latter peering through. 'Highest of all Symbols are those wherein the Artist or Poet has risen into Prophet, and all men can recognise a present God, and worship the same: I mean religious Symbols.
Pàgina 92 - Howe'er it be, it seems to me, Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
Pàgina 82 - All service ranks the same with God: If now, as formerly he trod Paradise, his presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work — God's puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last nor first.
Pàgina 144 - TRUE genius, but true woman ! dost deny Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity ? Ah, vain denial ! that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn ! — Thy woman's hair, my sister, all unshorn, Floats back dishevelled strength in agony, Disproving thy man's name ! and while before The world thou burnest in a poet-fire, We see thy woman-heart beat evermore Through the large flame.
Pàgina 137 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Pàgina 52 - ... enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whoso did receive of them, And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake. And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

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