TennysonHodder and Stonghton, 1903 - Всего страниц: 10 |
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ALDWORTH Tennyson's home BOOKMAN BROOK AT SOMERSBY Carlton & Sons Caswall Smith Caxton Series Edition Dante Gabriel Rossetti Dante's Edition of Idylls ENDERBY CHURCH Frith G. F. Watts G. K. CHESTERTON Gabriel Rossetti Reproduced Garth Jones George GERAINT AND EDYRN GLADE AT FARRINGFORD GRASBY CHURCH Gustave Doré HODDER & STOUGHTON home near Haslemere Horncastle SOMERSBY HORNCASTLE The home ideas intellectual force J. E. HODDER WILLIAMS Julia Margaret Cameron kind permission LADY OF SHALOTT LADY TENNYSON Laureate's Country LOUTH lover of beauty Macmillan Matthew Arnold medallion by Thomas mediæval mind Napier and Messrs Nature PALACE OF ART Paternoster Row permission of Messrs photo by Messrs poetry portrait by G. F. R.A. ALFRED TENNYSON Reigate FRESHWATER Reproduced from Tennyson's residence at Freshwater RICHARD GARNETT ROBERTSON NICOLL Shelley SOMERSBY CHURCH SOMERSBY RECTORY STOCKWORTH MILL TENNYSON Reproduced TENNYSON Rischgitz Collection Tennyson was born TENNYSON'S LANE TENNYSON'S MANUSCRIPT Tennyson's Poems Thomas Woolner Victorian vocation
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Стр. 37 - To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear.
Стр. 38 - I loved the brimming wave that swam Thro' quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam, The pool beneath it never still...
Стр. 38 - WHEN on my bed the moonlight falls, I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls; Thy marble bright in dark appears, As slowly steals a silver flame Along the letters of thy name, And o'er the number of thy years.
Стр. 36 - Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side. The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, In every elbow and turn, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland.
Стр. 39 - For groves of pine on either hand, To break the blast of winter, stand; And further on, the hoary Channel...
Стр. 40 - LONG lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm; And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands; Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill; And high in heaven behind it a gray down With Danish barrows; and a hazelwood, By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.
Стр. 37 - I know not h'ow it is, but I feel isolated here in the midst of society. The country is so disgustingly level, the revelry of the place so monotonous, the studies of the University so uninteresting, so much matter of fact. None but dry-headed, calculating, angular little gentlemen can take much delight in a -\- ^~b etc. I have been seeking "Falkland" here for a long time without success.
Стр. 36 - Madonna-wise on either side her head; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity, Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood, Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude, Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead.
Стр. 39 - Italy gleamed over the doorways ; friends' faces lined the passages, books filled the shelves, and a glow of crimson was everywhere ; the oriel drawing-room window was full of green and golden leaves, of the sound of birds and of the distant sea.
Стр. 8 - Year" if his mind had been as clean of metaphysics and as full of a poetic rusticity as the mind of William Morris. He might have been a greater poet if he had been less a man of his dubious and rambling age. But there are some things that are greater than greatness ; there are some things that no man with blood in his body would sell for the throne of Dante, and one of them is to fire the feeblest shot in a war that really awaits decision, or carry the meanest musket in an army that is really marching...