Walter Savage Landor: A Biography, Band 2

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Chapman and Hall, 1869
 

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Seite 460 - I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Seite 274 - If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein as in a mirror we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit— If these had made one poem's period, And all combined in beauty's worthiness, Yet should there hover in their restless heads One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least, Which into words no virtue can digest.
Seite 335 - All the verses that ever were written on the nightingale are scarcely worth the beautiful triad of this divine poet on the lark. La lodoletta che in aere si spazia, Prima cantando, e poi tace contenta Dell' ultima dolcezza che la sazia.
Seite 278 - I loved him not ; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check'd him while he spoke ; yet, could he speak, Alas ! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought To vex myself and him : I now would give My love could he but live Who lately lived for me, and when he found 'T was vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death ! I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me!
Seite 56 - Read them on thy marriage-bed, on thy childbed, on thy. death-bed. Thou spotless undrooping lily, they have fenced thee right well. These are the men for men : these are to fashion the bright and blessed creatures whom God one day shall smile upon in thy chaste bosom. Mind thou thy husband.
Seite 590 - Back to the flower-town, side by side, The bright months bring, New-born, the bridegroom and the bride, Freedom and spring. The sweet land laughs from sea to sea, Filled full of sun; All things come back to her, being free; All things but one.
Seite 306 - I leave thee, beauteous Italy ! no more From the high terraces, at even-tide, To look supine into thy depths of sky, Thy golden moon between the cliff and me, Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses Bordering the channel of the milky- way.
Seite 223 - With all his force, tho' he draw worlds around ? . . , Witness me, little streams ! that meet before My happy dwelling ; witness, Africo And Mensola ! that ye have seen at once Twenty roll back, twenty as swift and bright As are your swiftest and your brightest waves, When the tall cypress o'er the Doccia Hurls from his inmost boughs the latent snow. Go, and go happy...
Seite 33 - His very clearness puzzles and perplexes them, and they imagine that straightness is distortion, as children on seeing a wand dipped in limpid and still water. Clear writers, like clear fountains, do not seem so deep as they are : the turbid look the most profound. Parson. Fleas know not whether they are upon the body of a giant or upon one of ordinary size, and bite both indiscriminately.

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