Fair Words about Fair Woman

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Oliver Bell Bunce
D. Appleton, 1884 - 320 頁
 

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第 272 頁 - But, soft ! what light through yonder window breaks ? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
第 220 頁 - When death is nigh, my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill'd this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
第 20 頁 - O'er other creatures : yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best...
第 298 頁 - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide ! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell.
第 297 頁 - They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the...
第 212 頁 - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
第 19 頁 - Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites: Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.
第 133 頁 - She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither ! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o
第 301 頁 - When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden. Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them...
第 72 頁 - Could ever yet produce), No grape that's kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juice. Her finger was so small, the ring Would not...

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