Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. ...

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Seite 390 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume...
Seite 86 - Beat thro" the Windless casement of the room, And heated the strong warrior in his dreams; Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside, And bared the knotted column of his throat, The massive square of his heroic breast, And arms on which the standing muscle sloped, As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone, Running too vehemently to break upon it.
Seite 392 - Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw, Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King, Down that long water opening on the deep Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go From less to less and vanish into light. And the new sun rose bringing the new year.
Seite 385 - I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds." To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : " Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! Authority forgets a dying king, Laid widow'd of the power in his eye That bow'd the will.
Seite 288 - Let visions of the night or of the day Come, as they will ; and many a time they come, Until this earth he walks on seems not earth, This light that strikes his eyeball is not light, This air that smites his forehead is not air But vision — yea, his very hand and foot — In moments when he feels he cannot die, And knows himself no vision to himself, Nor the high God a vision, nor that One Who rose again : ye have seen what ye have seen.
Seite 72 - Shamed? care not! thy foul sayings fought for me: And seeing now thy words are fair, methinks There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great self, Hath force to quell me." Nigh upon that hour When the lone hern forgets his melancholy, Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams Of goodly supper in the distant pool, Then...
Seite 390 - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
Seite 254 - The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord Drank at the last sad supper with his own.
Seite 171 - It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all. " The little rift within the lover's lute, Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all.
Seite 389 - The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, (Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

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