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Strana 504 - My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will...
Strana 439 - By love are driven away ; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave : Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heaven When springing buds unfold ; 0 why to him was't given, Whose heart is wintry cold ? His breast is love's all-worshipped tomb, Where all love's pilgrims come.
Strana 504 - ... is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Strana 502 - The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on the walk in the street and the passage over the river...
Strana 166 - Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up...
Strana 552 - He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!
Strana 166 - There's a great text in Galatians, Once you trip on it, entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations, One sure, if another fails; If I trip him just a-dying, Sure of heaven as sure can be, Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell, a Manichee?
Strana 584 - Not mine, not mine (O muse forbid) the boon Of borrowed notes, the mock-bird's modish tune, The jingling medley of purloined conceits, Out-babying Wordsworth and out-glittering Keats ; Where all the airs of patchwork pastoral chime To drown the ears in Tennysonian rhyme ! * » * » * Let school-miss Alfred vent her chaste delight On ' darling little rooms so warm and bright ; ' Chaunt ' I'm aweary ' in infectious strain, And catch her
Strana 584 - WE know him, out of Shakespeare's art, And those fine curses which he spoke ; The old Timon, with his noble heart, That, strongly loathing, greatly broke. So died the Old : here comes the New. Regard him : a familiar face : I thought we knew him : What, it's you, The padded man — that wears the stays — Who killed the girls and thrilled the boys With dandy pathos when you wrote ! A Lion, you, that made a noise, And shook a mane en papillotes.
Strana 169 - It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" VI He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper.