Life and Literature

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Dodd, Mead, 1917 - English literature - 393 pages

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Page 274 - Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Page 269 - Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 37 - ... as an Arab Of thy beloved. Cling with life to the maid; But when the surprise, First vague shadow of surmise Flits across her bosom young, Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy-free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem, Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem. Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay, Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive; Heartily know, When half-gods go. The gods arrive.
Page 301 - NATURE. As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more ; 60 Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest...
Page 203 - How's my boy, my boy? And unless you let me know, I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no, Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no! "Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton'"— "Speak low, woman, speak low!" " And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud, I'd sing him over the town. Why should I speak low, sailor?
Page 352 - THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead ; They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
Page 270 - The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the sun thou welcom'st then, Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams; And all these merry days mak'st merry men, Thyself, and melancholy streams.
Page 315 - ... the sleeve Away from the merry bands, To old men playing at cards With a twinkling of ancient hands. The bread and the wine had a doom, For these were the host of the air; He sat and played in a dream Of her long dim hair.
Page 195 - How many times do I love thee, dear? Tell me how many thoughts there be In the atmosphere Of a new-fall'n year, Whose white and sable hours appear The latest flake of Eternity : So many times do I love thee, dear.
Page 275 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend...

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