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Página 11 - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Página 147 - We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free. Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
Página 141 - A land where all things always seem'd the same ! And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.
Página 17 - And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay : Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.
Página 267 - Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee.
Página 192 - Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: 'The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep - the men I loved. I think that we Shall...
Página 263 - I am a part of all that I have met ; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.
Página 200 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume...
Página 277 - Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
Página 100 - Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon : one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies : and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, This way and that, in many a wild festoon Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro