In Memoriam, Nummer 1Edward Moxon, Dover street, 1850 - 210 pagina's The famous requiem for the poet's good friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who died unexpectedly in 1833. "Tis better to have loved and lost," Tennyson writes, "than never to have loved at all." |
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Pagina 22
... land to - day , And I went down unto the quay , And found thee lying in the port , And standing , muffled round with woe , Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank , And beckoning unto those they know , And ...
... land to - day , And I went down unto the quay , And found thee lying in the port , And standing , muffled round with woe , Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank , And beckoning unto those they know , And ...
Pagina 30
... land . ' Tis little ; but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth . Come then , pure hands , and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep , And come ...
... land . ' Tis little ; but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth . Come then , pure hands , and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep , And come ...
Pagina 48
... land ; And in a circle hand - in - hand Sat silent , looking each at each . Then echo - like our voices rang ; We sung , tho ' every eye was dim , A merry song we sang with him Last year impetuously we sang : We ceased : a gentler ...
... land ; And in a circle hand - in - hand Sat silent , looking each at each . Then echo - like our voices rang ; We sung , tho ' every eye was dim , A merry song we sang with him Last year impetuously we sang : We ceased : a gentler ...
Pagina 91
... land , Whose jest among his friends is free , Who takes the children on his knee , And winds their curls about his hand : He plays with threads , he beats his chair For pastime , dreaming of the sky ; His inner day can never die , His ...
... land , Whose jest among his friends is free , Who takes the children on his knee , And winds their curls about his hand : He plays with threads , he beats his chair For pastime , dreaming of the sky ; His inner day can never die , His ...
Pagina 116
... Land Would reach us out the shining hand , And take us as a single soul . What reed was that on which I leant ? Ah , backward fancy , wherefore wake The old bitterness again , and break The low beginnings of content . LXXXIII . THIS ...
... Land Would reach us out the shining hand , And take us as a single soul . What reed was that on which I leant ? Ah , backward fancy , wherefore wake The old bitterness again , and break The low beginnings of content . LXXXIII . THIS ...
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
ambrosial beat Behold bells bliss blood bloom blow break breast breath brine bring brows calm chaff cloud cold crown'd Danube dark darken'd dead dear Death deep divine doubt dream dust dying earth ev'n evermore eyes fades fair faith faithless fall fall'n fancy fear flower gloom grave grief half hand happy happy days happy hour harp hath hear heart heaven hill hope Hope and Fear hour human land leaf leave light linnet lips lives look look'd love thee mind moon morn move Muse night o'er pain peace race regret rills Ring rise round seem'd Seraphic shade Shadow shore sing sleep song sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears thine things thou art thought thro touch touch'd trance trust truth unto voice walk'd weep whisper WHITEFRIARS wild wild bells wind wings wisdom words wrought yonder
Populaire passages
Pagina 1 - I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Pagina 76 - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Pagina 81 - Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed— Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, Or seal'd within the iron hills? No more? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil.
Pagina 178 - Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea...
Pagina 88 - Who breaks his birth's invidious bar, And grasps the skirts of happy chance, And breasts the blows of circumstance, And grapples with his evil star...
Pagina 159 - THE time draws near the birth of Christ : The moon is hid ; the night is still ; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound : Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace...
Pagina 190 - THERE rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen ! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands ; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
Pagina 78 - Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
Pagina 77 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last— far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream ; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night ; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
Pagina 101 - As sometimes in a dead man's face, To those that watch it more and more, A likeness, hardly seen before, Comes out — to some one of his race; So, dearest, now thy brows are cold, I see thee what thou art, and know Thy likeness to the wise below, Thy kindred with the great of old.