The Works of Edgar Allan Poe ...

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Funk & Wagnalls Company, 1904
 

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Стр. 74 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light, You common people of the skies; What are you when the moon shall rise?
Стр. 75 - I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness, And all the springtime of the year It only loved to be there.
Стр. 39 - Pease porridge hot, Pease porridge cold, Pease porridge in the pot Nine days old. Some like it hot, Some like it cold, Some like it in the pot Nine days old.
Стр. 75 - By a daisy whose leaves spread Shut when Titan goes to bed ; Or a shady bush or tree, She could more infuse in me, Than all Nature's beauties can, In some other wiser man.
Стр. 74 - You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th...
Стр. 76 - For, in the flaxen lilies' shade, It like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed; And then to me 'twould boldly trip, And print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to fill, And its pure virgin limbs to fold In whitest sheets of lilies cold: Had it lived long, it would have been Lilies without, roses within.
Стр. 43 - Gul in her bloom ; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute...
Стр. 46 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their elime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
Стр. 75 - The strange music of the waves Beating on these hollow caves, This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss, The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight, This my chamber of neglect Walled about with disrespect, From all these and this dull air, — A fit object for despair, — She hath taught me, by her might, To draw comfort and delight.
Стр. 75 - It is a wondrous thing how fleet 'Twas, on those little silver feet! With what a pretty, skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race ! And when...

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