Idyls of the King

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Ticknor and Fields, 1866 - 227 oldal

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224. oldal - Call'd me polluted : shall I kill myself? What help in that? I cannot kill my sin, If soul be soul ; nor can I kill my shame ; No, nor by living can I live it down. The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months, The months will add themselves and make the years, The years will roll into the centuries, And mine will ever be a name of scorn.
169. oldal - And peradventure had he seen her first She might have made this and that other world Another world for the sick man ; but now The shackles of an old love straiten'd him, His honor rooted in dishonor stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
218. oldal - To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, To ride abroad redressing human wrongs, To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, To honour his own word as if his God's, To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds Until they won her...
45. 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...
101. oldal - In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. " It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
218. oldal - To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her ; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But . teach high thought, and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
152. oldal - Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, Down on a bark, and overbears the bark, And him that helms it, so they overbore Sir Lancelot and his charger, and...
211. oldal - Sir Lancelot, as became a noble knight, Was gracious to all ladies, and the same In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and the King In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and these two Were the most nobly-mannered men of all ; For manners are not idle, but the fruit Of loyal nature, and of noble mind.
204. oldal - Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. 'No light had we: for that we do repent; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. 'No light: so late! and dark and chill the night! O let us in, that we may find the light! Too late, too late: ye cannot enter now.
220. oldal - Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, I, whose vast pity almost makes me die To see thee, laying there thy golden head, My pride in happier summers, at my feet. The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, The doom of treason and the flaming death, (When first I learnt thee hidden here,) is past.

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