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Стр. 404 - Merciful heaven! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
Стр. 161 - He roved among the vales and streams, In the green wood and hollow dell; They were his dwellings night and day,— But nature ne'er could find the way Into the heart of Peter Bell. In vain, through every changeful year, Did Nature lead him as before ; A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more.
Стр. 102 - O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! O first created beam, and thou great Word, Let there be light, and light was over all; Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
Стр. 165 - My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; - out of a sullen hollow in a livid hill-side, her mind could make an Eden.
Стр. 365 - Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, nor the likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them...
Стр. 294 - He praised perhaps for ages yet to come, She never heard of half a mile from home ; He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, She safe in the simplicity of hers.
Стр. 167 - Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God ; But only he who sees takes off his shoes...
Стр. 411 - Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, A cloud that gather...
Стр. 405 - I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. In words, like weeds...
Стр. 463 - Cantando, riceveano intra le foglie, Che tenevan bordone alle sue rime, Tal, qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie Per la pineta, in sul lito di Chiassi, Quand' Eolo Scirocco fuor discioglie.

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