Idyls of the king. Author's ed

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Page 137 - To make them like himself : but, friend, to me He is all fault who hath no fault at all : For who loves me must have a touch of earth ; The low sun makes the color : I am yours, Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond.
Page 93 - The which if any wrought on any one With woven paces and with waving arms, The. man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, From which was no escape for evermore ; And none could find that man for evermore, Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm Coming and going, and he lay as dead And lost to life and use and name and fame.
Page 146 - As when a painter, poring on a face, Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face, The shape and colour of a mind and life, Lives for his children, ever at its best...
Page 131 - ELAINE. ELAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, High in her chamber up a tower to the east Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; Which first she placed where morning's earliest...
Page 175 - Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.
Page 220 - The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, The doom of treason and the flaming death (When first I learnt thee hidden here), is past. The pang — which while I...
Page 114 - Thou read the book, my pretty Vivien! O ay, it is but twenty pages long, But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot, The text no larger than the limbs of fleas; And every square of text an awful charm, Writ in a language that has long gone by.
Page 210 - For there was no man knew from whence he came; But after tempest, when the long wave broke All down the thundering shores of Bude and Bos, There came a day as still as heaven, and then They found a naked child upon the sands Of dark Tintagil by the Cornish sea; And that was Arthur...
Page 223 - And even then he turn'd; and more and more The moony vapour rolling round the King, Who seem'd the phantom of a Giant in it, Enwound him fold by fold, and made him gray And grayer, till himself became as mist Before her, moving ghostlike to his doom.
Page 220 - I, whose vast pity almost makes me die To see thee, laying there thy golden head, My pride in happier summers, at my feet. The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce law, The doom of treason and the flaming death, (When first i learnt thee hidden here) is past. The...

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