The works of Alfred Tennyson, 5. kötet

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250. oldal - It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
146. oldal - Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown ; With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. ' Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands ; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; For man is man and master of his fate. ' Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ; Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
7. oldal - Swarm'd overseas, and harried what was left. And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, Wherein the beast was ever more and more, But man was less and less, till Arthur came.
28. oldal - d the great sea fall, Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame...
240. oldal - Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy; He walk'd with dreams and darkness, and he found A doom that ever poised itself to fall, An ever-moaning battle in the mist, World-war of dying flesh against the life, Death in all life and lying in all love, The meanest having power upon the highest, And the high purpose broken by the worm.
274. oldal - we scarce can sink as low; For men at most differ as heaven and earth, But women, worst and best, as heaven and hell.
7. oldal - THE COMING OF ARTHUR. THE COMING OF ARTHUR. EODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none other child ; And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, Guinevere, and in her his one delight.
52. oldal - That rose between the forest and the field. At times the summit of the high city flash'd ; At times the spires and turrets half-way down Prick'd thro...
173. oldal - O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true ; Here, thro...
1. oldal - DEDICATION. THESE to His Memory — since he held them dear, Perchance as finding there unconsciously Some image of himself — I dedicate, I dedicate, I consecrate with tears — These Idylls. And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my king's ideal knight, ' Who reverenced his conscience as his king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong ; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd to it; Who loved one only and who clave to her...

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