The devoted, by the authoress of 'The disinherited'. |
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The Devoted, by the Authoress of 'The Disinherited' Charlotte Susan M Bury Náhled není k dispozici. - 2015 |
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Strana 174 - But these are all lies : men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Strana 192 - So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
Strana 192 - I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; And like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I '11 so offend to make offence a skill ; Redeeming time when men think least I will.
Strana 319 - Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.
Strana 55 - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being...
Strana 224 - early to bed and early to rise, is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise.
Strana 156 - Doubt thou the stars are fire ; Doubt that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt I love.
Strana 132 - This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable!
Strana 294 - Above, below, aerial murmurs swell, From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell ! A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, Stealing soft music on the ear of night.
Strana 56 - With eye attentive mark the springing game. Straight as above the surface of the flood They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap, Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook : Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some, With various hand proportion'd to their force.