Longleat, by Elleray Lake, Том 2

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Стр. 104 - Who is Sylvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair To help him of his blindness, And, being helped, inhabits there. Then to Sylvia let us sing, That Sylvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us garlands bring. — Two Gentlemen of Verona...
Стр. 155 - Alas ! — how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity...
Стр. 21 - A something, light as air — a look, A word unkind or wrongly taken — Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
Стр. 265 - I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine — But . . . so much to thee ? Can I pour thy wine While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. Then, love me, Love ! look on me — breathe on me ! As brighter ladies do not count it strange, For love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee ! XXIV.
Стр. 41 - He who observes it, ere he passes on, Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, That he may call it up, when far away. I She sits, inclining forward as to speak, Her lips half open, and her finger up, As though she said, "Beware...
Стр. 197 - Oh, to see or hear her singing ! scarce I know which is divinest, For her looks sing too — she modulates her gestures on the tune, And her mouth stirs with the song, like song ; and when the notes are finest, 'Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light and seem to swell them on.
Стр. 41 - Beware !" her vest of gold Broidered with flowers and clasped from head to foot, An emerald stone in every golden clasp, And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, A coronet of pearls. But then her face ! So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, The overflowings of an innocent heart : It haunts me still, though many a year has fled, Like some wild melody.
Стр. 265 - Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? And would the sun for thee more coldly shine Because of grave-damps falling round my head? I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine But ... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. Then, love me, Love! look on me...
Стр. 127 - There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o
Стр. 41 - An emerald stone in every golden clasp; And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, A coronet of pearls. But then her face, So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, — The overflowings of an innocent heart, — It haunts me still, though...

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