Among My Books: Dante. Wordsworth. Milton. Keats

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1904

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Pagina 300 - If to do were as easy as to know what were^ good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
Pagina 263 - This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BAN. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
Pagina 17 - Like rose-buds, stuck i' th' lily-skin about. Each little pimple had a tear in it, To wail the fault its rising did commit : eo Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife, Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life. Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, The cabinet of a richer soul within ? No comet need foretell his change drew on, Whose corpse might seem a constellation.
Pagina 32 - For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds ; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the...
Pagina 7 - Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied. Easy was the task : A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race ! That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, And did not know it, — no, they went about, Holding a poor, decrepit standard out, Marked with most flimsy mottoes, and in large The name of one Boileau...
Pagina 282 - Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change ! Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wondering at the present nor the past...
Pagina 296 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Pagina 96 - Absalom" is, in my opinion, worth the whole poem; it is not bloody, but it is ridiculous enough; and he for whom it was intended was too witty to resent it as an injury. If I had railed, I might have suffered for it justly; but I managed my own work more happily, perhaps more dexterously.
Pagina 34 - What judgment I had, increases rather than diminishes; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast upon me that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject, to run them into verse or to give them the other harmony of prose...
Pagina 21 - Till Fortune's fruitless spite had made it known Her blows not shook but riveted his throne. Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, No action leave to busy chronicles;* Such whose supine felicity but makes In story chasms, in epoches mistakes; O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down Till with his silent sickle they are mown...

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