Palaestra

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Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1918 - 216 pages
"Untersuchungen und Texte aus der deutschen, englischen und skandinavischen Philologie und Literaturgeschichte" (varies).
 

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Page 25 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our Fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Page 194 - Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!
Page 110 - SENSITIVE PLANT in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew. And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of night.
Page 79 - If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf. If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle...
Page 93 - She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue. Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue: Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd: And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries.
Page 32 - O memory, hope, love of finished years. O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, Where souls brim-full of love abide and meet; Where thirsting longing eyes Watch the slow door That opening, letting in, lets out no more. Yet come...
Page 25 - O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Page 79 - That get sweet rain at noon ; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune. If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death...
Page 125 - Je suis la plaie et le couteau ! Je suis le soufflet et la joue ! Je suis les membres et la roue, Et la victime et le bourreau...
Page 117 - 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...

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