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183 ページ - AH, DID you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again ? How strange it seems, and new...
149 ページ - The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is — not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be, — but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means...
14 ページ - Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name — It was not her time to love: beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little...
331 ページ - He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, Singing together, He was a man born with thy face and throat, Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished, Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! "My dance is finished?
36 ページ - For, don't you mark ? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see ; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that ; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out.
264 ページ - Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine-song, when hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world's life.
133 ページ - Might she have loved me? Just as well She might have hated, who can tell? Where had I been now if the worst befell? And here we are riding, she and I. Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
332 ページ - Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it, When he had gathered all books had to give! Sooner, he spurned it.
136 ページ - The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels — But give me your sun from yonder skies!" They had answered, "And afterward, what else?
74 ページ - Sayeth that such an one was born and lived, Taught, healed the sick, broke bread at his own house, Then died, with Lazarus by, for aught I know, And yet was . . . what I said nor choose repeat...