 Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve That tender, lovely form of painted air, So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls; I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade. 'Tislife! 'tis warm! 'tis she! 'tis she herself ! Nor dead nor shade, but breathing...  The Port Folio - Página 4891810Vista completa - Acerca de este libro
 | William Congreve - 1912 - 496 páginas
...and nail me where I stand, ye powers; [Coming forward. That motionless I may be still deceived. Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve That tender, lovely form of painted air, 30 like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls; I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade. Tis life!... | |
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