The Briary-bush: A NovelA.A. Knopf, 1921 - Всего страниц: 423 |
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absurd afraid anyway arms artist Bab Ballads beautiful believe Canal street Chronicle cigarette city editor Clive Bangs coffee Community House dance desk Devoe dinner door dream Dryad Eddie Silver eyes feel Felix asked Felix Fay Felix felt Felix looked foolish Franklin stove friends girl glad go to Chicago hand happy Hawkins heard Henry James Howard Morgan idea interested kind kissed knew laughed left Community live marriage married mean mind never night perhaps Phyllis Phyllis Nelson play Port Royal queer remember Roger Rose Rose-Ann Rose-Ann's father seemed sleep smiled sorry Springfield story strange studio suddenly summer colony suppose talk tell theatre there's things thought told tonight took trying turned understand Victor Budge wait walked wife Willie Smith wish woman wonderful Woods Point write young
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Стр. 242 - Now the joys of the road are chiefly these: A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees; A vagrant's morning wide and blue, In early fall, when the wind walks, too; A shadowy highway cool and brown Alluring up and enticing down From rippled water to dappled swamp, From purple glory to scarlet pomp; The outward eye, the quiet will, And...
Стр. 373 - I never have known love but as a kiss In the mid-battle, and a difficult truce Of oil and water, candles and dark night, Hillside and hollow, the hot-footed sun, And the cold, sliding, slippery-footed moon — A brief forgiveness between opposites That have been hatreds for three times the age Of this long-'stablished ground.
Стр. 396 - TO HIS COY MISTRESS HAD we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews; My vegetable...
Стр. 242 - A hunger fit for the kings of the sea, And a loaf of bread for Dickon and me; A thirst like that of the Thirsty Sword, And a jug of cider on the board; An idle noon, a bubbling spring, The sea in the pine-tops murmuring; A scrap of gossip at the ferry; A comrade neither glum nor merry, Asking nothing, revealing naught, But minting his words from a fund of thought, A keeper of silence eloquent, Needy, yet royally well content, Of the mettled breed, yet abhorring strife, And full of the mellow juice...
Стр. 119 - Stand not uttering sedately Trite oblivious praise above her! Rather say you saw her lately Lightly kissing her last lover. Whisper not, "There is a reason Why we bring her no white blossom": Since the snowy bloom's in season Strow it on her sleeping bosom: Oh, for it would be a pity To o'erpraise her or to flout her: She was wild, and sweet, and witty — Let's not say dull things about her.
Стр. 373 - Ah ! Conchubar, had you seen her With that high, laughing, turbulent head of hers Thrown backward, and the bowstring at her ear, Or sitting at the fire with those grave eyes Full of good counsel as it were with wine, Or when love ran through all the lineaments Of her wild body — although she had no child, None other had all beauty, queen or lover, Or was so fitted to give birth to kings.
Стр. 3 - He saw again in his mind's eye, as he tramped the road, a picture of the map on the wall of the railway station — the map with a picture of iron roads from all over the Middle West centering in a dark blotch in the corner. . . . "Chicago,
Стр. 350 - A kiss is but a kiss now ! and no wave Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. But, as you will ! we'll sit contentedly, And eat our pot of honey on the grave.
Стр. 140 - Sleep on, Blest pair ! and, O ! yet happiest, if ye seek No happier state, and know to know no more ! Now had Night measured with her shadowy cone Half-way up-hill this vast sublunar vault, And from their ivory port the Cherubim Forth issuing, at the...
Стр. 140 - For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.