The English Journal, Količina 17

Sprednja platnica
University of Chicago Press, 1928

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Stran 404 - The other Shape — If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either — black it stood as Night, 670 Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart : what seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Stran 406 - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Stran 398 - And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her gardens to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection, — to beauty, in a word, io which is only truth seen from another side?
Stran 114 - Methought I heard a voice cry " Sleep no more ! Macbeth does murder sleep," the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast, — Lady M.
Stran 409 - And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Stran 403 - Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fold...
Stran 401 - Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied, for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant* sung; Silence was pleased: now...
Stran 112 - In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
Stran 406 - Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle multiform, and mix And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Stran 406 - At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names ; Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?

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