 Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale...  Poetical Quotations from Chaucer to Tennyson - الصفحة 617بواسطة Samuel Austin Allibone - 1878 - عدد الصفحات: 772عرض كامل - لمحة عن هذا الكتاب
 | John Hollander - 1999 - عدد الصفحات: 264
[ عذرًا، محتوى هذه الصفحة مقيَّد ] | |
 | Mark Pryce - 2001 - عدد الصفحات: 164
...made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at...murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. 114 Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim... | |
 | C. C. Bombaugh - 2003 - عدد الصفحات: 556
[ عذرًا، محتوى هذه الصفحة مقيَّد ] | |
 | Arapeta Awatere - 2003 - عدد الصفحات: 548
...equal made With poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at...murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow: Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now... | |
 | Geoffrey O'Brien, Billy Collins - 2007 - عدد الصفحات: 778
...made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at...or late, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmurming breath, IN TIME When they, pale captives, creep to death. OF WAR \42i The garlands wither... | |
 | Edward Leeson - 2004 - عدد الصفحات: 728
[ عذرًا، محتوى هذه الصفحة مقيَّد ] | |
 | Cambridge International Examinations - 2005 - عدد الصفحات: 272
...made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill, But their strong nerves at...Early or late They stoop to fate. And must give up the murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then... | |
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