The Reminiscences of an Idler

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Fords, Howard, & Hulbert, 1880 - 596 Seiten
 

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Seite 35 - Grace was in all her steps. Heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.
Seite 479 - TERESA : — I have read this book in your garden; my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them — which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian.
Seite 319 - I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Seite 214 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Seite 257 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Seite 267 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Seite 296 - Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom ? Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom ? Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose ? Know'st thou it ? Thither ! O thither, My dearest and kindest, with thee would I go.
Seite 349 - If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.
Seite 261 - But these are all lies : men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Seite 319 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

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