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Seite 498 - Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Seite 43 - The remotest discoveries of the chemist, the botanist, or mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the poet's art as any upon which it can be employed, if the time should ever come when these things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated by the followers of these respective sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings.
Seite 5 - Not only around our infancy Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, We Sinais climb and know it not.
Seite 5 - This water his blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need ; Not what we give, but what we share, For the gift without the giver is bare ; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
Seite 161 - ... keep the word of promise to the ear, and break it to the hope" — we have presumed to court the assistance of the friends of the drama to strengthen our infant institution.
Seite 5 - They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.
Seite 50 - Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Seite 45 - From such verses the Poems in these volumes will be found distinguished at least by one mark of difference, that each of them has a worthy purpose.
Seite 5 - Lo, it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee, This water His blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need...
Seite 194 - IN winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people's feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day...