Enoch Arden, &c

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Ticknor and Fields, 1865 - 178 oldal
 

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200. oldal - Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean Rings to the roar of an angel onset — Me rather all that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring, And bloom profuse and cedar arches Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean, Where some refulgent sunset of India...
160. oldal - Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? " The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
160. oldal - The lucid outline forming round thee; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm With kisses balmier than half-opening buds Of April...
83. oldal - So they talk'd, Poor children, for their comfort. The wind blew, The rain of heaven and their own bitter tears, Tears and the careless rain of heaven, mixt Upon their faces, as they kiss'd each other In darkness, and above them roar'd the pine. So Leolin went ; and as we task ourselves To learn a language known but smatteringly In phrases here and there at random, toil'd Mastering the lawless science of our law, That codeless myriad of precedent, That wilderness of single instances, Thro' which a...
10. oldal - ... flourishes Green in a cuplike hollow of the down. Here on this beach a hundred years ago, Three children of three houses, Annie Lee, The prettiest little damsel in the port, And Philip Ray, the miller's only son, And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd Among the waste and lumber of the shore, Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats up-drawn...
157. oldal - Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, Like wealthy men who care not how they give. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho...
14. oldal - Rough-redden' d with a thousand winter gales, Not only to the market-cross were known, But in the leafy lanes behind the down, Far as the portal-warding lion-whelp, And peacock-yewtree of the lonely Hall, Whose Friday fare was Enoch's ministering.
10. oldal - Was master : then would Philip, his blue eyes All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears, Shriek out ' I hate you, Enoch,' and at this The little wife would weep for company, And pray them not to quarrel for her sake, And say she would be little wife to both.
9. oldal - LONG lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm ; And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands...
160. oldal - Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

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