Algernon Charles Swinburne: A Study

Voorkant
Greening & Company, 1901 - 212 pagina's

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Pagina 80 - Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread, As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
Pagina 51 - Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee.
Pagina 45 - I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me...
Pagina 19 - For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, 30 And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Pagina 40 - Breasts more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath; And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joy before death; All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre, Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire. More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things?
Pagina 145 - All our past acclaims our future : Shakespeare's voice and Nelson's hand, Milton's faith and Wordsworth's trust in this our chosen and chainless land, Bear us witness : come the world against her, England yet shall stand.
Pagina 19 - When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain...
Pagina 52 - OUT of the golden remote wild west where the sea without shore is, Full of the sunset, and sad, if at all, with the fullness of joy, As a wind sets in with the autumn that blows from the region of stories, Blows with a perfume of songs and of memories beloved from a boy...
Pagina 77 - Thou sawest, in thine old singing season, brother, Secrets and sorrows unbeheld of us; Fierce loves, and lovely leaf-buds poisonous, Bare to thy subtler eye, but for none other Blowing by night in some unbreathed-in clime...

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