The Princess: A MedleyEdward Moxon, 1851 - 182 pages |
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Page 9
... doubt not that . O yes , you miss'd us much . I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did . ' She held it out ; and as a parrot turns Up thro ' gilt wires a crafty loving eye , And takes a lady's finger with all care , And bites it for true ...
... doubt not that . O yes , you miss'd us much . I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did . ' She held it out ; and as a parrot turns Up thro ' gilt wires a crafty loving eye , And takes a lady's finger with all care , And bites it for true ...
Page 23
... of the vine in all his veins- ' No doubt that we might make it worth his while . She once had past that he heard her speak ; way ; She scared him ; life ! he never saw the like ; She look'd as grand as doomsday and as grave : A MEDLEY . 23.
... of the vine in all his veins- ' No doubt that we might make it worth his while . She once had past that he heard her speak ; way ; She scared him ; life ! he never saw the like ; She look'd as grand as doomsday and as grave : A MEDLEY . 23.
Page 51
... doubt and tost it to and fro : A clamour thicken'd , mixt with inmost terms Of art and science : Lady Blanche alone Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments , With all her Autumn tresses falsely brown , Shot sidelong daggers at us , a ...
... doubt and tost it to and fro : A clamour thicken'd , mixt with inmost terms Of art and science : Lady Blanche alone Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments , With all her Autumn tresses falsely brown , Shot sidelong daggers at us , a ...
Page 67
... into stone . ' I answer'd nothing , doubtful in myself If that strange Poet - princess with her grand Imaginations might at all be won . And she broke out interpreting my thoughts : ' No doubt we seem a kind of monster to F2 A MEDLEY . 67.
... into stone . ' I answer'd nothing , doubtful in myself If that strange Poet - princess with her grand Imaginations might at all be won . And she broke out interpreting my thoughts : ' No doubt we seem a kind of monster to F2 A MEDLEY . 67.
Page 68
A Medley Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. ' No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you ; We are used to that : for women , up till this Cramp'd under worse than South - sea - isle taboo , Dwarfs of the gynæceum , fail so far In high desire ...
A Medley Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. ' No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you ; We are used to that : for women , up till this Cramp'd under worse than South - sea - isle taboo , Dwarfs of the gynæceum , fail so far In high desire ...
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Common terms and phrases
ALFRED TENNYSON answer'd Arac arms ask'd babe betwixt Blow bound in morocco boys brows call'd cataract CHARLES LAMB child cloth cried Cyril dark daughter dead dear death dipt DOVER STREET dream dropt dying EDITION EDWARD MOXON elegantly bound enemies have fall'n enter'd eyes face fair father fight Florian flying follow'd foolscap 8vo gain'd girl glowworm hall hand head hear heard heart Heaven king kiss'd knew Lady Blanche Lady Psyche land light Lilia lips lives look'd maiden maids Melissa morning mother moved night noble o'er ourselves POEMS POETICAL price 14s Prince Princess Princess Ida Psyche's rapt rode roll'd rose sang seem'd sewed shadow shame small 8vo song spake speak spoke star stept stood strange sweet Sweet and low talk'd thee thou thought thro trumpet turn'd vext voice volume 8vo wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Winter's tale woman women Woodcuts
Popular passages
Page 171 - Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man ; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words...
Page 78 - O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. ' O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.
Page 73 - O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 75 - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Page 180 - For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. This fine old world of ours is but a child Yet in the go-cart. Patience ! Give it time To learn its limbs : there is a hand that guides.
Page 156 - I strove against the stream and all in vain; Let the great river take me to the main. No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more.
Page 168 - And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, Or red with spirted purple of the vats, Or foxlike in the vine ; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the silver horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : But follow; let the torrent dance...
Page 76 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 134 - Then they praised him, soft and low, CalPd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Page 76 - Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!