How to Speak: Exercises in Voice Culture and Articulation with Illustrative PoemsLittle, Brown, 1922 - 158 страница |
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Страница 30
... never sees The stars shine through his cypress - trees ! Who , hopeless , lays his dead away , Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned , in hours of faith , 30 HOW TO SPEAK.
... never sees The stars shine through his cypress - trees ! Who , hopeless , lays his dead away , Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned , in hours of faith , 30 HOW TO SPEAK.
Страница 32
... breaking upon the shore , As though they were groaningin anguish , and moaning- Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more . But sleep , little pigeon , and fold your wings- Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes ; Am I not singing ...
... breaking upon the shore , As though they were groaningin anguish , and moaning- Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more . But sleep , little pigeon , and fold your wings- Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes ; Am I not singing ...
Страница 43
... break of day , Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay , The affrighted air with a shudder bore , Like a herald in haste , to the chieftain's door , The terrible grumble , and rumble , and roar , Telling the battle was on once more , And ...
... break of day , Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay , The affrighted air with a shudder bore , Like a herald in haste , to the chieftain's door , The terrible grumble , and rumble , and roar , Telling the battle was on once more , And ...
Страница 61
... break , And he whimpered as they ran . " I hear a shout that moves the earth , A cry that wakes the dead ! Will no one tell me whence they come , For all my messengers are dumb ? What power is this that comes to birth And breaks my ...
... break , And he whimpered as they ran . " I hear a shout that moves the earth , A cry that wakes the dead ! Will no one tell me whence they come , For all my messengers are dumb ? What power is this that comes to birth And breaks my ...
Страница 66
... break the bone- My King , you have one instant to prepare ! " She said no more , because the thrust was there . Oft have I heard the tale of Scotland's king , The Poet , and Catherine Bar - Lass . ( Men sing For aye the deed one moment ...
... break the bone- My King , you have one instant to prepare ! " She said no more , because the thrust was there . Oft have I heard the tale of Scotland's king , The Poet , and Catherine Bar - Lass . ( Men sing For aye the deed one moment ...
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How to Speak: Exercises in Voice Culture and Articulation with Illustrative ... Adelaide Patterson Приказ није доступан - 2013 |
Чести термини и фразе
A. P. Watt Alfred Tennyson audience Bar-Lass battle blow chest consonant correct dear lad diaphragm dreams drop drum Edmund Vance Cooke Edwin Markham Eugene Field exercises explosive expression eyes Fellow My Lad flag following poems force forming France give glottis Hallelujah hard palate hear heard heart Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hold humming John Greenleaf Whittier keep lifted lips listening Little town Lord lower ribs lungs mental mouth muscles never night nostrils o'er organs of speech overtones pause pitch position practice pronounce pronunciation Recite the following resonance chambers rhythm Ring Rudyard Kipling scale short singing sleep soft soft palate song soul speaker speaking stars sternum strong strong inflection sweet syllables teacher thee thou throat to-day tone tongue too,too trying upper vocal cords voice vowel vowel sounds wild words Young Fellow
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Страница 140 - My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
Страница 138 - If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, On watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools.
Страница 71 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Страница 43 - Up from the South, at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away!
Страница 70 - When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it— lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew. And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets
Страница 63 - RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light : The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Страница 101 - A fire-mist and a planet, A crystal and a cell, A jelly-fish and a saurian. And caves where the cave-men dwell: Then a sense of law and beauty. And a face turned from the clod, Some call it Evolution, And others call it God.
Страница 70 - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Страница 111 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Страница 81 - And a feeling of sadness conies o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.