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Стр. 31 - Look not upon me, because I am black, Because the sun hath looked upon me: My mother's children were angry with me ; They made me the keeper of the vineyards; But mine own vineyard have I not kept.
Стр. 52 - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities.
Стр. 191 - With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, To have my love to bed, and to arise ; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Стр. 59 - Despair at me doth throw. 0 make in me those civil wars to cease: 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf...
Стр. 90 - Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There in close covert by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish' eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep...
Стр. 327 - My blessin' and my pride! There's nothin' left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now.
Стр. 327 - I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm goin' to : They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there— But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair...
Стр. 327 - Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone ; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow — I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, When the hunger pain was gnawin...
Стр. 172 - IF I had but two little wings, And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear ! But thoughts like these are idle things, And I stay here.
Стр. 81 - In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower, The spectral owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour, But at dusk he's abroad and well! Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him; All mock him outright by day; But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, The boldest will shrink away!