Linguistics and the Study of Literature

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Theo d' Haen, Theo d'. Haen
Rodopi, 1986 - 287页

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目录

Theo Dhaen
1
Realist or Romantic? Philip Larkins Modes of Writing
27
Peter Verdonk
42
Elizabeth Newman
56
Donald C Freeman
72
Vimala Herman
89
Georgian Poetry
112
Walter Nash
128
Michael H Short
152
Roger Fowler
187
Mieke
201
André Lefevere
218
J G Schippers
245
Willie van Peer
268
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热门引用章节

第81页 - THOU still unravished bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes,...
第82页 - O attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty,— that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
第230页 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii. Look ! in this place, ran Cassius...
第130页 - The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels And on a sudden, lo!
第76页 - Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep...
第47页 - I wander thro' each charter'd street Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear: How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls; But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear.
第75页 - Olympus' faded hierarchy! Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star, Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain-swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
第175页 - HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
第75页 - Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love: The winged boy I knew; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true! O latest born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus
第98页 - I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went! And more must, in yet longer light's delay.