The Poetic and Dramatic Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Volume 2Houghton Mifflin, 1898 - 887 pages |
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Page 37
... dear , so dear , That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear ; 159 170 For hid in ringlets day and night , I'd touch her neck so warm and white . And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist , And her heart would beat ...
... dear , so dear , That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear ; 159 170 For hid in ringlets day and night , I'd touch her neck so warm and white . And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist , And her heart would beat ...
Page 39
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . For now the noonday quiet holds the hill ; The grasshopper is silent in the grass ; The lizard , with his shadow on the stone , Rests like a shadow , and the winds are dead . The purple flower droops ...
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . For now the noonday quiet holds the hill ; The grasshopper is silent in the grass ; The lizard , with his shadow on the stone , Rests like a shadow , and the winds are dead . The purple flower droops ...
Page 40
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . She ceased , and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's - length , so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where shə stood Somewhat apart , her clear and bared limbs O ...
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . She ceased , and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's - length , so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where shə stood Somewhat apart , her clear and bared limbs O ...
Page 41
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . Idalian Aphrodite beautiful , 170 Fresh as the foam , new - bathed in Paphian wells , With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warın brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial , golden round her ...
... Dear mother Ida , harken ere I die . Idalian Aphrodite beautiful , 170 Fresh as the foam , new - bathed in Paphian wells , With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warın brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial , golden round her ...
Page 47
... dear ; To - morrow ' ill be the happiest time of all the glad New - year ; Of all the glad New - year , mother , the mad- dest merriest day , For I'm to be Queen o ' the May , mother , I'm to be Queen o ' the May . There's many a black ...
... dear ; To - morrow ' ill be the happiest time of all the glad New - year ; Of all the glad New - year , mother , the mad- dest merriest day , For I'm to be Queen o ' the May , mother , I'm to be Queen o ' the May . There's many a black ...
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Common terms and phrases
Aldwyth answer'd arms Arthur Becket blood breath brother call'd Camelot Camma child cried crown dark dead dear death Dobson Dora dream early editions earth Edith England eyes face fair father fear fire Fitzurse flower Gawain golden Guinevere hall hand happy Harold hate hath hear heard heart heaven Henry holy John of Salisbury King King Arthur kiss knew Lady of Shalott Lancelot land Leofwin light Line live Locksley Hall look look'd lord marriage Mary Morcar morning mother never night o'er once Philip poem Queen Rosamund rose round seem'd shadow Sinnatus Sir Balin Sir Bedivere Sir Lancelot sleep smile song soul spake speak star stept Stigand stood sweet Synorix tears tell Tennyson thee thine thou art thought thro Tostig turn'd vext voice Walter Map wild wind
Popular passages
Page 186 - disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the Christ that is to be. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land,
Page 159 - truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. 1849. I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. But who shall so forecast the years And Und in loss a gain to match ? Or reach a hand thro
Page 172 - I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. LVI • So careful of the type ? ' but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, ' A thousand types are gone; I care for nothing, all shall go.
Page 171 - in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last —far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night;
Page 445 - never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Page 445 - And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge: ' The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 410 Comfort thyself; what comfort is in me ? • . I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure ! but thou, *—-
Page 10 - Upon himself himself did feed; Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, And other than his form of creed, With chisell'd features clear and sleek. THE POET THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw
Page 63 - That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of goats prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet
Page 186 - the sin. The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring ont false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of
Page 208 - my life, my fate. The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near;' And the white rose weeps, ' She is late; ' The larkspur listens, ' I hear, I hear; ' And the lily whispers, ' I wait.' Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat,