Отзывы - Написать отзыв
Не удалось найти ни одного отзыва.
Другие издания - Просмотреть все
angels answer beauty Belovëd beneath better bird bless blind break breath bring brow calm child church close cloud cold crown dark dear death door dream drop earth ends eyes face fair fall feel feet Florence flowers give glory God's golden grave green grow hand head hear heart heaven hills holy hope Italy keep kiss leave less light lips live look lost love thee mother never once pale Pan is dead pass pitiful poet poor praise prove pure rose round seemed seen shine sight silence sing smile song soul sound speak spirit stand stone strike strong sweet Sweetest tears thine things thou art thought touch true truth turned voice wait weep wind
Стр. 230 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
Стр. 201 - IF thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say ' I love her for her smile — her look — her way Of speaking gently, — for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day...
Стр. 112 - He giveth His beloved, sleep. 'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eye-lids creep. But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Стр. 111 - What would we give to our beloved? The hero's heart to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows? — He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Стр. 120 - Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested Upon the victim's hidden face, no love was manifested ? What frantic hands outstretched have e'er the atoning drops averted ? What tears have washed them from the soul, that one should be deserted ? Deserted!
Стр. 150 - GODS of Hellas, gods of Hellas, Can ye listen in your silence ? Can your mystic voices tell us Where ye hide ? In floating islands, With a wind that evermore Keeps you out of sight of shore ? Pan, Pan is dead.
Стр. 28 - Oh, our Sophocles, the royal, Who was born to monarch's place, And who made the whole world loyal, Less by kingly power than grace ! Our Euripides, the human, With his droppings of warm tears, And his touches of things common Till they rose to touch the spheres...
Стр. 119 - Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother while she blesses And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses — That turns his fevered eyes around...
Стр. 51 - THERE is no God,' the foolish saith, But none, ' There is no sorrow,' And nature oft the cry of faith, In bitter need will borrow : Eyes, which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised, And lips say, ' God be pitiful,' Who ne'er said,