The Poetical Works of Owen MeredithLippincott, 1881 - 477 Seiten |
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Agamemnon Alfred Vargrave art thou beauty Bigorre bosom breast breath brow cheek CHORUS CLYTEMNESTRA cold Cordelia dark dead dear death deep door dream Duke earth EGISTHUS ELECTRA eyes face faint fair fall fear feel flowers forever gaze golden grief hair hand hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour King King Solomon kiss lady land leaves life's light lips live lone look Lord Alfred Lucile Luvois man's Matilda moon murmured neath never night o'er Odin once pain pale passed passion perchance PHOCIAN Queen Guenevere rapture rose round Saint Saviour scorn seemed SEMI-CHORUS sighed sight silence sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star strange sweet Tannhäuser tears thee thine things thought truth turned Twas twixt vext voice wander warm weep wild wind woman words yore young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 160 - No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby.
Seite 218 - From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous, scornful mien, To my early love, with her eyes downcast, And over her primrose face the shade, (In short, from the future back to the past) There was but a step to be made.
Seite 456 - But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times ; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the Past ? and who can judge us right...
Seite 217 - Which she used to wear in her breast. It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, It made me creep, and it made me cold ! Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet Where a mummy is half unrolled.
Seite 217 - I have not a doubt she was thinking then Of her former lord, good soul that he was! Who died the. richest and roundest of men, The Marquis of Carabas.
Seite 217 - And the one bird singing alone to his nest; And the one star over the tower. I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me back my ring; And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, Such a very little thing!
Seite 220 - There is a portrait here," he began; " There is. It is mine," I said. Said the friend of my bosom, " Yours, no doubt, The portrait was, till a month ago, When this suffering angel took that out, And placed mine there, I know." " This woman, she loved me well," said I. " A month ago," said my friend to me : " And in your throat," I groaned,
Seite 218 - With her primrose face, for old things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say; For beauty is easy enough to win — But one isn't loved every day.
Seite 219 - I sat by the dreary hearth alone ; I thought of the pleasant days of yore; I said — " The staff of my life is gone, The woman I loved is no more.
Seite 219 - The thing is precious to me : They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay ; It lies on her heart, and lost must be If I do not take it away.