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answer asks beauty believe better Branscombe breath child close comes course dear desire don't door doubt draws expression eyes face fact fall fashion father feel follows gaze gently girl give glad goes gone grow half hand happy head hear heart holds hope Horace hour Hythe laugh lays least leave light lips look Lord marry mean meet mind Miss Broughton Miss Peyton months morning never night once pale passed passionate perhaps poor presently pretty raises Redmond remember returns round Ruth Sartoris says Clarissa says Dorian says Georgie says Miss Scrope seems seen sigh silence Sir James sitting slowly smile soft speak standing sure sweet tears tell thing thought told tone touch turns understand vicar voice walks whole wish woman young
Стр. 280 - For it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours...
Стр. 187 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate, She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate. The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near ;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait.
Стр. 101 - The night was winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Стр. 296 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
Стр. 160 - Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth To dim enchantments ; melting Heaven with Earth, Leaving on craggy hills and running streams A softness like the atmosphere of dreams ; Thy hour to all is welcome ! Faint and sweet Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet, Who, slow returning from his task of toil, Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil, And, tho' such radiance round him brightly glows, Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Стр. 31 - Tis raging noon ; and, vertical, the sun Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns ; and all From pole to pole, is undistinguished blaze.
Стр. 110 - For valour, is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And, when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Стр. 297 - Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence.
Стр. 104 - ... high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely.calculated less or more ; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self.poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.
Стр. 222 - Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to day, to be put back to morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow...