The Poems and Prose Remains of Arthur Hugh Clough: With a Selection from His Letters and a Memoir, Հատոր 1

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Macmillan, 1869 - 502 էջ
 

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Common terms and phrases

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Էջ 80 - Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? May I not wash in them, and be clean?
Էջ 276 - And they said one to another, We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought us, and we would not hear; therefore is this distress come upon us.
Էջ 392 - tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new.
Էջ 320 - Still roll ; where all the aspects of misery Predominate; whose strong effects are such As he must bear, being powerless to redress; And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man...
Էջ 344 - More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, And solitude; yet not alone, while thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn Purples the East.
Էջ 376 - M. die, quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum nascantur flores, et Phyllida solus habeto. P. non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites. et vitula tu dignus et hie, et quisquis amores aut metuet dulces aut experietur amaros.
Էջ 16 - Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.
Էջ 323 - Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen : He rules mid winter snows, and when Bees fill their hives : Deep in the general heart of men His power survives.
Էջ 390 - And I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath God given to the sons of man to be exercised therewith.
Էջ 375 - On the blanch'd sands a gloom; Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side — And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, But cruel is she ! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea.

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