Chats in the Book-room

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The author, 1896 - 164 pàgines
 

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Passatges populars

Pàgina 160 - And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom?
Pàgina 59 - Deal gently with us, ye who read ! Our largest hope is unfulfilled, — The promise still outruns the deed, — The tower, but not the spire, we build. Our whitest pearl we never find ; Our ripest fruit we never reach ; The flowering moments of the mind Drop half their petals in our speech.
Pàgina 8 - Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
Pàgina 161 - Then gnaw'd his pen, then dash'd it on the ground, Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound ! Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there, Yet wrote and flounder'd on, in mere despair.
Pàgina 57 - Where are my friends? I am alone; No playmate shares my beaker: Some lie beneath the churchyard stone, And some — before the Speaker; And some compose a tragedy, And some compose a rondo; And some draw sword for Liberty, And some draw pleas for John Doe. Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes Without the fear of sessions; Charles...
Pàgina x - I come not here your morning hour to sadden, A limping pilgrim leaning on his staff — I, who have never deemed it sin to gladden This vale of sorrows with a wholesome laugh. If word of mine another's gloom has brightened, Through my dumb lips the heaven-sent message came; If hand of mine another's task has lightened, It felt the guidance that it dares not claim. But...
Pàgina 1 - Some of your griefs you have cured, And the sharpest you still have survived; But what torments of pain you endured From evils that never arrived!
Pàgina 64 - Leaning across the table, over the beer, While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball, As the midnight hour drew near, There with the women, haggard, painted and old, One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale, She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told Tale after shameless tale. And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled, Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun, And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child, Or ever the tale was done. O my...
Pàgina vii - Youth longs and manhood strives, but age remembers, Sits by the raked-up ashes of the past, Spreads its thin hands above the whitening embers That warm its creeping life-blood till the last.
Pàgina 99 - All round the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame. Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, And go marching along up the stair.

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