The Analysis of Sentences

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Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor & Company, 1881 - English language - 251 pages

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Page 65 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Page 24 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, •An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Page 198 - Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about. Content to let the north- wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat The frost-line back with tropic heat ; And ever, when a louder blast , Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed...
Page 245 - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Page 242 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Page 241 - The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free ; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea...
Page 246 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, — To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 245 - The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Page 24 - We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace...
Page 198 - Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows ; Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, Impatient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows...

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