The Poetical Works of Owen Meredith (Robert, Lord Lytton).

T. Y. Crowell, 1884 - 480 σελίδες

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Σελίδα 26 - We may live without poetry, music, and art ; We may live without conscience, and live without heart ; We may live without friends ; we may live without books ; But civilized man cannot live without cooks. He may live without books, — what is knowledge but grieving ? He may live without hope, — what is hope but deceiving ? He may live without love, — what is passion but pining ? But where is the man that can live without dining ? XX.
Σελίδα 18 - The man who seeks one thing in life, and but one. May hope to achieve it before life be done ; But he who seeks all things, wherever he goes, Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sows A harvest of barren regrets.
Σελίδα 162 - No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby.
Σελίδα 220 - From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous, scornful mien, To my early love, with her eyes downcast, And over her primrose face the shade, (In short, from the future back to the past) There was but a step to be made. To my early love from my future bride One moment I looked.
Σελίδα 221 - The thing is precious to me: They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay; It lies on her heart, and lost must be If I do not take it away.
Σελίδα 221 - Nobody with me, my watch to keep, But the friend of my bosom, the man I love: And grief had sent him fast to sleep In the chamber up above.
Σελίδα 282 - And he saith unto them, Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is risen; he is not here: behold the place where they laid him. 7 But go your way, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.
Σελίδα 221 - I sat by the dreary hearth alone: I thought of the pleasant days of yore: I said, "The staff of my life is gone: The woman I loved is no more.
Σελίδα 251 - All bright below; all calm above; No sense of pain, no sign of wrong Save in thy heart of hopeless love, Poor child of Song! Why must the soul through Nature rove, At variance with her general plan ? A stranger to the Power, whose love Soothes all save Man ? Why lack the strength of meaner creatures ? The wandering sheep, the grazing kine, Are surer of their simple natures Than I of mine. For all their wants the poorest land Affords supply; they browse and breed; I scarce divine, and ne'er have found,...
Σελίδα 222 - We found the portrait there in its place, We opened it by the tapers' shine, The gems were all unchanged ; the face Was — neither his nor mine. ''One nail drives out another, at last ! The face of the portrait there," I cried, " Is our friend's the Raphael-faced young priest Who confessed her when she died.

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