ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
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الصفحة 34 - And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon. Mortals, that would follow me, Love Virtue ; she alone is free. She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime; Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her.
الصفحة 57 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
الصفحة 35 - I wanted warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, Thou art the highest and most human too, Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none Will tell the King I love him tho
الصفحة 480 - Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God afraid of me: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, Yet touched and shamed by ridicule alone.
الصفحة 36 - Let no man dream but that I love thee still. Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, Hereafter in that world where all are pure We two may meet before high God, and thou Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know; I am thine husband — not a smaller soul, f Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence. Thro...
الصفحة 51 - Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.
الصفحة 119 - Victoria, by the grace of God Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, saving as aforesaid.
الصفحة 179 - And ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the waters, to destroy him: but if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.
الصفحة 127 - ... tide They fling their melancholy music wide; Bidding me many a tender thought recall Of summer days, and those delightful years When by my native streams, in life's fair prime, The mournful magic of their mingling chime First waked my wondering childhood into tears! But seeming now, when all those days are o'er, The sounds of joy once heard and heard no more.