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Page 4 - Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 602 - And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur...
Page 602 - A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee: Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see...
Page 105 - I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answered, "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell...
Page 211 - You are now collecting your people delightfully, getting them exactly into such a spot as is the delight of my life. Three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on...
Page 4 - O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did . . . Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i...
Page 603 - But follow; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley; let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling watersmoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying...
Page 621 - Advanc'd, and made a constellation there : Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage ; Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light, BEN JONSON.
Page 302 - ... Breeches and chirped. As peart as ever you see, " I want a chaw of terbacker, And that's what's the matter of me." How did he git thar? Angels. He could never have walked in that storm. They jest scooped down and toted him To whar it was safe and warm. And I think that saving a little child. And bringing him to his own, Is a derned sight better business Than loafing around The Throne.
Page 770 - So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and the Grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top; and they all fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.