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acted alliteration appear beauty become believe better Browning Browning's called character close comes court criticism death drama dream earth effect English expression eyes fact feel give given hand happy hear heart hope human ideal imagination interest King leave less light lines literary live London look Lord lost matter means mind Miss nature never night Oldest once passed perhaps play poem poet poetic poetry present printed published question reader rhymes scene Second seems seen sense Shakespeare side song soul sound speak spirit stage story taken tell things Third thou thought tion touch tragedy true truth turn universal verse whole woman write written
Seite 358 - How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Seite 625 - How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou any thing ? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare ? Speak to me what thou art.
Seite 21 - No, wench : it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have ; such. This gallant, which thou seest...
Seite 483 - Thames' waters flow. O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among. Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor; Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Seite 579 - He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead ; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust ! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.
Seite 579 - He is made one with Nature. There is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird. He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone ; Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own, Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Seite 194 - How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand...
Seite 36 - Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day: Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
Seite 262 - Never any more, While I live, Need I hope to see his face As before. Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive : Bitterly we re-embrace, Single still. n. Was it something said, Something done, Vexed him ? was it touch of hand, Turn of head ? Strange ! that very way Love begun : I as little understand Love's decay.