Essays and Marginalia, Volumen1

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Página 121 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough Winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion...
Página 37 - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain, Or forest, by slow stream or pebbly spring, Or chasms, and watery depths ; all these have vanished ; They live no longer in the faith of reason...
Página 156 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Página 165 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Página 155 - In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets...
Página 104 - Tis by comparison, an easy task Earth to despise; but, to converse with heaven— This is not easy:— to relinquish all We have, or hope, of happiness and joy, And stand in freedom loosened from...
Página 172 - There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.
Página 105 - Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Página 141 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Página 37 - They live no longer in the faith of reason ! But still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names...

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