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Donald C Freeman
Michael H Short
J G Schippers
Willie van Peer
accept action activity alliteration analysis appear become called character communication complex concept concerned constraints construction context course criticism dark direct discourse discussion effect elements English example existence experience expressed fact final formal function given important interpretation involved kind language least leave less linguistic literary literature London marked meaning metaphor metrical motif musical names narrative narrator nature object obvious occur opening particular passage pattern play poem poem's poet poetic poetry position possible present Press produced question reader reading reason reference relation result rewriting rhythm role seems semantic sense sentence Short social society sound speak speaker speech stanza Stoppard's stories stressed structure Style stylistics suggest theory things translation turn types University utterance verb Volume writing
Page 81 - 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,...
Page 82 - 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.
Page 230 - 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...
Page 130 - 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!
Page 76 - 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...
Page 47 - 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.
Page 75 - 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.
Page 175 - 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.
Page 75 - 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
Page 98 - 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.