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Geschichte der Poesie und Beredsamkeit seit dem Ende des ..., Выпуск 10
Полный просмотр - 1817
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Стр. 250 - Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness?
Стр. 468 - And yet on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book: who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
Стр. 273 - Hymen, they do shout, That even to the heavens their shouting shrill Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill, To which the people standing all about, As in approvance do thereto applaud And loud advaunce her laud, And evermore they Hymen, Hymen, sing That all the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring.
Стр. 465 - Only the poet, disdaining to be tied to any such subjection, lifted up with the vigour of his own invention, doth grow in effect into another nature, in making things either better than Nature bringeth forth, or, quite anew - forms such as never were in Nature...
Стр. 398 - I know frail beauty like the purple flower, To which one morn oft birth and death affords; That love a jarring is of minds...
Стр. 385 - Reach her, about must, and about must go; And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so; Yet strive so, that before age, death's twilight, Thy Soul rest, for none can work in that night. To will, implies delay, therefore now...
Стр. 264 - Disordred hong about his shoulders round, And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound; His raw-bone cheekes through penurie and pine, Were shronke into his jawes, as he did never dine. His garment nought but many ragged clouts, With thornes together pind and patched was, The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts...
Стр. 222 - Is as Elysium to a new-come soul: Not that I love the city or the men, But that it harbours him I hold so dear, The king, upon whose bosom let me die, And with the world be still at enmity.
Стр. 406 - ON A GIRDLE THAT which her slender waist confined, Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done. It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer, My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move! A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair; Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round!