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The Passionate Pilgrim; Or, Eros and Anteros, by Henry J. Thurstan
Francis Turner Palgrave
Nincs elérhető előnézet - 2019
affection ages already amongst answer appeared believe beneath better blessing bright child common confession consolation conviction course dark dear death deep delight desire Désirée Désirée's despair earth eternity existence experience eyes face faith fancy fate fear feel felt final followed force friends further give hands happiness heard heart heaven hope human imagination Italy knew knowledge learned least leave less light lines living looked lost mind moment mysterious Nature never once passed passion perhaps phrase pleasure poet possible present pure reason regret remembrance rock scene secret seemed sense silence smiles sorrow soul speak spirit strange sweet things thought thousand true truly truth turn vast vision voice wandering whilst writer youth
188. oldal - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
16. oldal - We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two ? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun And bleat the one at the other.
96. oldal - Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.
90. oldal - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour, With music sweet as love which overflows her bower.
96. oldal - And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die I leave my love alone.
162. oldal - Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou — who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
58. oldal - He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him: He also will hear their cry, and will save them.
139. oldal - Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes ; and Adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needleworks and embroideries it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground : judge therefore of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed ; for Prosperity doth best discover vice, but Adversity...
203. oldal - In truth, the great Elements we know of, are no mean comforters : the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown — the Air is our robe of state — the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it — able, like David's harp, to make such a one as you forget almost the tempest cares of life.