The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volym 7 |
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Sida 11
... Thine is the pride of modest worth . Our souls at least congenial meet , Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace ; Our intercourse is not less sweet , Since worth of rank supplies the place . November , 1802 . TO D ( 2 ) IN thee , I fondly hop ...
... Thine is the pride of modest worth . Our souls at least congenial meet , Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace ; Our intercourse is not less sweet , Since worth of rank supplies the place . November , 1802 . TO D ( 2 ) IN thee , I fondly hop ...
Sida 12
... thine image still must rest , Until that heart shall cease to beat . And , when the grave restores her dead , When life again to dust is given , - On thy dear breast I'll lay my head Without thee , where would be my heaven ? February ...
... thine image still must rest , Until that heart shall cease to beat . And , when the grave restores her dead , When life again to dust is given , - On thy dear breast I'll lay my head Without thee , where would be my heaven ? February ...
Sida 14
... Thine image , what new friendship can efface ? Ah , none ! -a father's tears will cease to flow , Time will assuage an infant brother's woe ; To all , save one , is consolation known , While solitary friendship sighs alone . 1803 . A ...
... Thine image , what new friendship can efface ? Ah , none ! -a father's tears will cease to flow , Time will assuage an infant brother's woe ; To all , save one , is consolation known , While solitary friendship sighs alone . 1803 . A ...
Sida 19
... thine own creation ; For he who views that witching grace , That perfect form , that lovely face , With eyes admiring , oh ! believe me , He never wishes to deceive thee : Once in thy polish'd mirror glance , Thou ' lt there descry that ...
... thine own creation ; For he who views that witching grace , That perfect form , that lovely face , With eyes admiring , oh ! believe me , He never wishes to deceive thee : Once in thy polish'd mirror glance , Thou ' lt there descry that ...
Sida 23
... thine dissever ; Still would we kiss , and kiss for ever ; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed . To part would be a vain endeavour : Could I desist ? ah ! never - ― never TRANSLATION FROM HORACE ...
... thine dissever ; Still would we kiss , and kiss for ever ; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed . To part would be a vain endeavour : Could I desist ? ah ! never - ― never TRANSLATION FROM HORACE ...
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The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volume 8 Baron George Gordon Byron Byron Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2015 |
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ANACREON bard beauty beneath blast bless blest bliss bosom breast Calmar Capel Lofft CATULLUS dare dark dead dear death delight dream e'en Edinburgh Review edition expire eyes fair fame fate father fear feel flame foes folly fond forget Friendship genius glory glow grave Harrow heart heaven heroes honour hope hour kiss lady lines live Lochlin Lord Byron Lord Carlisle Lord Henry Petty love's last adieu lyre Mathon mind Moore muse ne'er never Newstead Newstead Abbey night Nisus and Euryalus noble numbers o'er once Orla Oscar passion perchance poem poet praise pride Probus published remembrance rhyme rise roll satire scene shade sigh sire sleep smile song soothe soul stanzas strain sweet tears thee thine thou thought throng tomb translation truth twill verse voice wave weep wings wonted written young youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 176 - And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove ! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
Sida 294 - Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust ! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn : To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, I never knew but one, and...
Sida 319 - By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Maid of Athens!
Sida 239 - Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double; Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose...
Sida 211 - These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain— I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 1808.
Sida 229 - twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment ? No : as soon Seek roses in December — ice in June ; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore ; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.
Sida 240 - Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of an idiot boy; ' A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, And, like his bard, confounded night with day; So close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the ' idiot in his glory ' Conceive the bard the hero of the story.
Sida 239 - Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favourite May, Who warns his friend 'to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double...
Sida 292 - When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below. When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been.
Sida 318 - Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Zurrí JJLOÜ, aas By those tresses unconfined, Woo'd by each /Egean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, ZlOT) fJLOtl, CTÚC à"yaTTÔ).