Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, Volumes 93-94

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Georg Westermann, 1894 - Languages, Modern
 

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Page 4 - I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read...
Page 191 - Et dixit illis angelus: Nolite timere: ecce enim evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo: quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator, qui est Christus Dominus in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: Invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in praesepio.
Page 77 - Was doch alles Schreibens Anfang und Ende ist, die Reproduktion der Welt um mich durch die innere Welt, die alles packt, verbindet, neu schafft, knetet, und in eigener Form, Manier, wieder hinstellt, das bleibt ewig Geheimnis, Gott sei Dank, das ich auch nicht offenbaren will den Gaffern und Schwätzern.
Page 290 - Et respondens angelus dixit ei: Spiritus sanctus superveniet in te, et virtus Altissimi obumbrabit tibi, ideoque et quod nascetur ex te sanctum vocabitur Filius Dei.
Page 185 - Precamur sancte Domine Defende nos in hac nocte, Sit nobis in te requies, Quietam noctem tribue ; Ne gravis somnus irruat, Nec hostis nos surripiat, Nec caro illi consentiens Nos tibi reos statuat.
Page 11 - The odour from the flower is flown, Which breathed of thee and only thee ! A withered, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart which yet is warm With cold and silent rest.
Page 263 - Ein ganz frisch schön TrauerSpiel von Pater Brey, dem falschen Propheten in der zweiten Potenz.
Page 4 - Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Page 12 - THE odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on me ; The colour from the flower is flown Which glowed of thee and only thee ! A...
Page 10 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...

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