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admiration appreciation Arnold artistic Authors beautiful better bring Byron called consider continually critic culture dear delight dilletante effect English especially expression exquisite eyes fact fame fashion fault feel final fine fire flat force French girl give idea ignores impression inspiration instance Irish Keats keep lack least length Lewis light LIMITED literary literature live look manner mark matter mean mere merely metre mind Morris Muse nature never once original Oscar passion perfect perhaps phrase play poem poetic poetry poets prose question reason rhyme ridiculous round seems seen selected sense sing Sir Edwin Arnold sonnet sort soul sound speaking spirit style sweet taste tell theme things thought thousand touch tricks true truth turn utter verse virtue weak whole Wilde wings write writers young
Σελίδα 53 - To drift with every passion till my soul Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play, Is it for this that I have given away Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay, Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: Is that time dead?
Σελίδα 7 - He had that curious love of green, which in individuals is always the sign of a subtle artistic temperament, and in nations is said to denote a laxity, if not a decadence of morals.
Σελίδα 53 - Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay, Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance — And must I lose a soul's inheritance?
Σελίδα 74 - And night and day served there a chosen band Of nautch girls, cup-bearers, and cymballers, Delicate, dark-browed ,ministers of love, Who fanned the sleeping eyes of the happy Prince, And when he waked, led back his thoughts to bliss...
Σελίδα 38 - Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings; such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain : be still the leaven, That spreading in this dull and clodded earth, Gives it a touch ethereal — a new birth...
Σελίδα 73 - Sweet son ! and see the pleasaunce of the spring, And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield Its riches to the reaper ; how my realm — Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me — Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's chest filled. Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms, Green grass, and cries of plough-time.
Σελίδα 78 - Our greatness is become a tale To tell our children's babes when we are old. They shall put by their playthings to be told How England once, before the years of bale, Throned above trembling, puissant, grandiose, calm, Held Asia's richest jewel in her palm; And with unnumbered isles barbaric, she The broad hem of her glistering robe impearl'd; Then, when she wound her arms about the world, And had for vassal the obsequious sea.
Σελίδα 67 - Where's the Poet ? show him! show him! Muses nine! that I may know him! 'Tis the man who with a man Is an equal, be he King, Or poorest of the beggar-clan, Or any other wondrous thing A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato; 'Tis the man who with a bird...