Higher-grade English: History of the Language : Analysis, Style, Prosody

Első borító
T. Nelson and Sons, 1907 - 150 oldal
 

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117. oldal - Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
137. oldal - If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
143. oldal - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
131. oldal - HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold...
113. oldal - They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale. She all night long her amorous descant sung: Silence was pleased.
115. oldal - Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.
133. oldal - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side. But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds and led the way.
115. oldal - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is...
114. oldal - The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown...
131. oldal - In a somer seson • whan soft was the sonne, I shope me in shroudes • as I a shepe were, In habite as an heremite • vnholy of workes, Went wyde in this world • wondres to here.

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