The works of Tennyson. Sch. ed, Band 1 |
Im Buch
Ergebnisse 1-5 von 39
Seite 8
... words . III . Weak Truth a - leaning on her crutch , Wan , wasted Truth in her utmost need , Thy kingly intellect shall feed , Until she be an athlete bold , And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed ; Like ...
... words . III . Weak Truth a - leaning on her crutch , Wan , wasted Truth in her utmost need , Thy kingly intellect shall feed , Until she be an athlete bold , And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed ; Like ...
Seite 14
... words . sword No Of wrath her right arm whirl'd , But one poor poet's scroll , and with his word She shook the world . THE POET'S MIND . I. VEX not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit : Vex not thou the poet's mind ; For thou ...
... words . sword No Of wrath her right arm whirl'd , But one poor poet's scroll , and with his word She shook the world . THE POET'S MIND . I. VEX not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit : Vex not thou the poet's mind ; For thou ...
Seite 15
... words : O listen , listen , your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee : O listen , listen , your eyes shall glisten When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea . Who can light on as happy a ...
... words : O listen , listen , your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee : O listen , listen , your eyes shall glisten When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea . Who can light on as happy a ...
Seite 17
... words wander here and there ; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused : But let them rave . The balm - cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave . Let them rave . LOVE AND DEATH . 17 WHAT time the mighty ...
... words wander here and there ; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused : But let them rave . The balm - cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave . Let them rave . LOVE AND DEATH . 17 WHAT time the mighty ...
Seite 22
... words are seeming - bitter , Sharp and few , but seeming - bitter From excess of swift delight . III . Come down , come home , my Rosalind , My gay young hawk , my Rosalind : Too long you keep the upper skies ; Too long you roam and ...
... words are seeming - bitter , Sharp and few , but seeming - bitter From excess of swift delight . III . Come down , come home , my Rosalind , My gay young hawk , my Rosalind : Too long you keep the upper skies ; Too long you roam and ...
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
answer'd beneath betwixt blood blow breast breath brow Camelot cheek Clara Vere cloud crested bird dark dead Dear mother Ida death deep dipt door Dora dream earth EDWIN MORRIS Enone evermore Excalibur eyes face fair fall floating flowers fluttering tongues folded foolish song forlorn gleaming gold dagger golden grave green hand happy harken ere hath hear heard heart Heaven hills hour King Arthur kiss kiss'd knew Lady of Shalott land last embrace light lips live Locksley Hall look look'd Lord mind moon morn never night o'er Oriana Queen roll'd rose round scorn seem'd shadow shining silent sing Sir Bedivere sleep slowly smile song soul sound spake speak spirit stars stept stood summer sweet tears thee thine things thought thro turn'd unto Vere de Vere voice weary weep whisper wild wind words
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 8 - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Seite 72 - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
Seite 71 - Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes ? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Seite 51 - Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o
Seite 97 - Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me ? Let me go : take back thy gift : "Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance, Where all should pause, as is most meet for all ? A soft air fans the cloud apart ; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From thy pure brows and from thy shoulders pure And bosom beating with a heart renewed. Thy cheek begins...
Seite 102 - I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, On from island unto island at ,the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.
Seite 69 - Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery.
Seite 69 - Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily: "What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?" And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the water lapping on the crag , And the long ripple washing in the reeds.
Seite 72 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some fullbreasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away.
Seite 110 - Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board, no helmsman steers, I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars.