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Page 336 - A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at ! Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, Where either I must live, or bear no life ; The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up...
Page 28 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 242 - But when we in our viciousness grow hard, (O misery on't !) the wise gods seel our eyes In our own filth; drop our clear judgments; make us Adore our errors ; laugh at us while we strut To our confusion.
Page 256 - WHY should we faint and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so Heaven has will'd, we die,* Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh...
Page 24 - Balder. Alas ! that one Should use the days of summer but to live, And breathe but as the needful element The strange superfluous glory of the air ! Nor rather stand apart in awe beside The untouched Time, and saying o'er and o'er In love and wonder,
Page 179 - As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
Page 95 - Prayer for the Queen's Majesty. OLord' our heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord of lords, the only Ruler of princes, who dost from thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth...
Page 367 - She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face.
Page 13 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away. But when that moan had past for evermore, The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn Amazed him, and he groan'd, "The King is gone.