Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
Alboin ancient artistic assert atoms beauty Bishop building called cause character Christ Christian Church colony Constantine Corssen course death dominion Empire English Epicurus Etruscan Etruscan language Etruscan numerals fact faith feeling followed Gaul Gaulish genius German give Gratian human Ibid India influence inscriptions interest John Shakespeare King labour land language Latin Lingones living Lord Lord Crawford Lucretius Lucretius's matter Maximian means ment mind missionaries modern molecules moral Mosel native nature never Nicetius object panegyrists passion picture Poe's poem poet poetry present Priscillian prove question Ravenna readers reform regard religion religious remarkable result Roman Rome seems sense Shakespeare spirit story Stratford Tacitus theory things thought tion Treveri tribes Trier true truth Tufnell Universities volume whole William Shakespeare words writers
Seite 212 - Nor the demons down under the sea , Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Seite 213 - But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we ; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
Seite 212 - A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me.
Seite 396 - Love took up the glass of time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Seite 402 - For woman is not undevelopt man But diverse: could we make her as the man, Sweet love were slain : his dearest bond is this Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; The man be more of woman, she of man ; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble...
Seite 166 - Firmly relying ourselves on the truth of Christianity, and acknowledging with gratitude the solace of religion, we disclaim alike the right and the desire to impose our convictions on any of our subjects.
Seite 214 - Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom, And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb, By the door of a legended tomb; And I said— "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied— "Ulalume— Ulalume— 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!
Seite 402 - For woman is not undevelopt man, . But diverse : could we make her as the man, Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care...
Seite 394 - Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, I, whose vast pity almost makes me die To see thee, laying there thy golden head, My pride in happier summers, at my feet. The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, The doom of treason and the flaming death, (When first I learnt thee hidden here) is past.
Seite 404 - Singing alone in the morning of life, In the happy morning of life and of May, Singing of men that in battle array, Ready in heart and ready in hand, March with banner and bugle and fife To the death for their native land. Maud with her exquisite face, And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky, And feet like sunny gems on an English green, Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Death, and of Honour that cannot die, Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, And myself...