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Abend ackv adout äearest anä anck anotker anü Augen Blick Brust daek dook eome eommon eourse Erinnerung ersten ewig Fenster Freund fühlen fühlte Fürstin ganze Gedanken Gefühl give Glauben Gott Göttlichen great Hand Hause Herz Himmel Hofrat Iahren jetzt Kalidasa katk kave kear keart kelp kigk kimselk Kind Klax know kollow konnte KooK kor tke koree korm kortk kour krom tke kuman l'ke Leben Liebe ligkt little long look love manv Menschen motker muß Mutter Nausikaa nisse ok kis ok tke one's oneselk otker plaee plessure poet realitv resi rigkt Ruhe sagen sagte Schlosse Seele Seligkeit Silberpappel sprach Tage take time tion title tkan tkat tkeir tkem tkere tking tkis tkougkt tkrougk tkst togetker translation unserer vears verv viel Welt Wesen wieder wike wissen witk wkat wken wkere wkiek wkiok wohl Wordsworth work Worte
Page 69 - More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea : and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see ! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father, anything to thee.
Page 45 - A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know. A man becomes aware of his life's flow, And hears its winding murmur, and he sees The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
Page 104 - Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing. Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Page 44 - And many a man in his own breast then delves, But deep enough, alas ! none ever mines. And we have been on many thousand lines, And we have shown, on each, spirit and power; But hardly have we, for one little hour, Been on our own line, have we been ourselves...
Page 45 - And long we try in vain to speak and act Our hidden self, and what we say and do Is eloquent, is well — but 'tis not true...
Page 44 - But often, in the world's most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried life ; A thirst to spend our fire and restless force In tracking out our true, original course...
Page 68 - And yet my eyes are filled with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien, or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence.
Page 68 - Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake; This little bay; a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode — In truth together do ye seem Like something fashioned in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep!
Page 70 - I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old As fair before me shall behold As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And Thee, the spirit of them all!
Page 69 - And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — Thus beating up against the wind.