Ranolf and Amohia: A Dream of Two Lives, Volume 2

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K. Paul, Trench & Company, 1883
 

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Page 333 - IN forma dunque di candida rosa Mi si mostrava la milizia santa, Che nel suo sangue CRISTO fece sposa ; Ma l' altra, che volando vede e canta La gloria di colui che la innamora, E la bontà che la fece cotanta, Sì come schiera d' api, che s' infiora Una fiata, ed una si ritorna Là dove suo lavoro s' insapora, Nel gran fior discendeva, che s...
Page 334 - Nel gran fior discendeva che s' adorna Di tante foglie , e quindi risaliva Là dove il suo amor sempre soggiorna. Le facce tutte avean di fiamma viva, E l' ali d' oro, el* altro tanto bianco Che nulla neve a quel termine arriva. Quando scendean nel fior di banco in banco , Porgevan della pace e dell...
Page 58 - Cliffs damp with dark-green moss — their slopes All crimson-stained with blots and streaks — White-mottled and vermilion-rusted. And in the midst, beneath a cloud That ever upward rolls and reeks And hides the sky with its dim shroud, Look where upshoots a fuming fount — Up through a blue and boiling pool Perennial — a great sapphire steaming, In that coralline crater gleaming. Upwelling ever, amethystal, Ebullient comes the bubbling crystal ! Still growing cooler and more cool As down the...
Page 59 - White-mottled and vermilion-rusted. And in the midst, beneath a cloud That ever upward rolls and reeks And hides the sky with its dim shroud, Look where upshoots a fuming fount — Up through a blue and boiling pool Perennial — a great sapphire steaming, In that coralline crater gleaming. Upwelling ever, amethystal, Ebullient comes the bubbling crystal ! Still growing cooler and more cool As down the porcelain stairway slips The fluid flint, and slowly drips, And hangs each basin's curling lips...
Page 329 - s cheek (but none knows how) ; With these the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin — All these did my Campaspe win. At...
Page 26 - Alas, and well-a-day ! they are talking of me still : By the tingling of my nostril, I fear they are talking ill ; Poor hapless I — poor little I — so many mouths to fill — And all for this strange feeling, O this sad sweet pain ! 2.
Page 52 - She paused a tender moment — then resumed : " Nay, not the Rata ! howsoe'er it bloomed, Paling the crimson sunset ; for, you know, Its twining arms and shoots together grow Around the trunk it clasps, conjoining slow Till they become consolidate, and show An ever-thickening sheath that kills at last The helpless tree round which it clings so fast.
Page 59 - O'er all the scene — and every phase The current takes as down it strays. They note where'er, by step or stair, By brimming bath, on hollow reef Or hoary plain, its magic rain Can reach a branch, a flower, a leaf — The branching spray, leaf, blossom gay, Are blanched and stiffened into stone ! So round about lurks tracery strewn Of daintiest-moulded...

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