Die Sprache als Kunst, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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R. Gartners Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1885 - Language and languages - 1087 pages
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Page 310 - It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...
Page 258 - I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches : though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up ; Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down ; Though castles topple on their warders...
Page 174 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it; My part of death no one so true Did share it.
Page 101 - In Lebensfluten, im Tatensturm Wall' ich auf und ab, Webe hin und her! Geburt und Grab, Ein ewiges Meer, Ein wechselnd Weben, Ein glühend Leben, So schaff' ich am sausenden Webstuhl der Zeit Und wirke der Gottheit lebendiges Kleid.
Page 118 - When shepherds pipe on oaten straws And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Page 428 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields ; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain air; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
Page 117 - Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Page 109 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 191 - Que diable, toujours de l'argent! Il semble qu'ils n'aient autre chose à dire : « De l'argent, de l'argent, de l'argent ». Ah ! ils n'ont que ce mot à la bouche : « De l'argent !
Page 254 - Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose : Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er "which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.

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