Lancelot and Elaine

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Macmillan, 1895 - 94 páginas
 

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Página 9 - Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face, The shape and color of a mind and life, Lives for his children, ever at its best And fullest...
Página xxxii - And Dryden, in immortal strain, Had raised the Table Round again,* But that a ribald King and Court Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, Licentious satire, song, and play ; The world defrauded of the high design, Profaned the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
Página xviii - Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd; All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word...
Página xii - Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
Página 13 - Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, Down on a bark, and overbears the bark, And him that helms it, so they overbore Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear Prick'd sharply his own cuirass, and the head Pierced thro' his side, and there snapt, and remain'd.
Página ix - One God, one law, one element, And one far-off divine event, To which the whole creation moves.
Página xxxvi - Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost, Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak, And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still...
Página 3 - To make them like himself : but, friend, to me He is all fault who hath no fault at all : For who loves me must have a touch of earth. ; The low sun makes the color : I am yours, Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond.
Página 29 - Repeating, till the word we know so well Becomes a wonder, and we know not why, So dwelt the father on her face, and thought 'Is this Elaine?' till back the maiden fell, Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay, Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes.
Página 28 - And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. " Love, art thou sweet ? then bitter death must be: Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me.

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