The Life of Algernon Charles Swinburne

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Macmillan, 1917 - 362 страница

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Страница 83 - I shall go my ways, tread out my measure, Fill the days of my daily breath With fugitive things not good to treasure...
Страница 167 - Thou art far too far for wings of words to follow, Far too far off for thought or any prayer What ails us with thee, who art wind and air? What ails us gazing where all seen is hollow? Yet with some fancy, yet with some desire, Dreams pursue death as winds a flying fire, Our dreams pursue our dead and do not find.
Страница 208 - THIS is the golden book of spirit and sense, The holy writ of beauty ; he that wrought Made it with dreams and faultless words and thought That seeks and finds and loses in the dense Dim air of life that beauty's excellence Wherewith love makes one hour of life distraught And all hours after follow and find not aught.
Страница 102 - I came as one whose thoughts half linger, Half run before; The youngest to the oldest singer That England bore. I found him whom I shall not find Till all grief end, In holiest age our mightiest mind, Father and friend.
Страница 81 - The morning song beneath the stars that fled With twilight through the moonless mountain air, While youth with burning lips and wreathless hair Sang toward the sun that was to crown his head, Rising ; the hopes that triumphed and fell dead, The sweet swift eyes and songs of hours that were ; These may'st thou not give back for ever ; these, As at the sea's heart all her wrecks lie waste, Lie deeper than the sea...
Страница 304 - ... there is, that none Hearing ere its chime be done Knows not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun, Hoped in heaven hereafter ; Soft and strong and loud and light, Very sound of very light Heard from morning's rosiest height, When the soul of all delight Fills a child's clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such notes, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant mouth of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale...
Страница 144 - Light flocks of untameable birds; Some sang to me dreaming in class-time And truant in hand as in tongue ; For the youngest were born of boy's pastime, The eldest are young.
Страница 83 - O sweet, Had you felt, lying under the palms of your feet, The heart of my heart, beating harder with pleasure To feel you tread it to dust and death — Ah, had I not taken my life up and given All that life gives and the years let go, The wine and honey, the balm and leaven, The dreams reared high and the hopes brought low...
Страница 35 - The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy ; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted...
Страница 117 - Because thou art over all who are over us ; Because thy name is life and our name death ; Because thou art cruel and men are piteous, And our hands labour and thine hand scattereth ; Lo, with hearts rent and knees made tremulous, Lo, with ephemeral lips and casual breath, At least we witness of thee ere we die That these things are not otherwise, but fhus ; That each man in his heart sigheth, and saith, That all men even as I, All we are against thee, against thee, O God most high.

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