Punch, Volume 105 (Google eBook)

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Page 286 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; And, with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead...
Page 78 - Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist.
Page 81 - There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye! When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. "At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.
Page 249 - ... lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet...
Page 97 - There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave under the deep, deep sea...
Page 150 - There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture ! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set And blew " Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came...
Page 150 - What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on, only when the timbers start.
Page 16 - If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Page 97 - No voice is hushed no life treads silently, But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, That never spoke, over the idle ground : But in green ruins, in the desolate walls Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, Though the dun fox, or wild hyena calls, And owls, that flit continually between, Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.
Page 81 - And some in dreams assured were Of. the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And...

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