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Страница 48 - I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly : thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest...
Страница 37 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing...
Страница 61 - You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome...
Страница 52 - And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.
Страница 44 - We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell ? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep ; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; Where the...
Страница 42 - And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf!
Страница 42 - I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand...
Страница 53 - There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls...
Страница 40 - Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ; Heavy to get, and light to hold ; Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled : Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the church-yard mould ; Price of many a crime untold : Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold...
Страница 62 - And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.

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