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14 de mai. de 2024 · "Andrea del Sarto" is a dramatic monologue poem written by Robert Browning, first published in 1855 as part of his collection "Men and Women." The poem is named after the Italian Renaissance painter Andrea del Sarto, who was known for his skillful technique but lacked the creative genius of some of his contemporaries.
Há 6 dias · The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest! Robert Browning.
12 de mai. de 2024 · Up At A Villa' Down In The City. (As Distinguished by an Italian Person of Quality) I. Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square; Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there! II. Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!
11 de mai. de 2024 · A rope cuts both my wrists behind, And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. VI. Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go! In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead. “Thou, paid by the World ,-what dost thou owe.
21 de mai. de 2024 · You'll Love Me Yet. You'll love me yet!-and I can tarry. Your love's protracted growing: June reared that bunch of flowers you carry. From seeds of April 's sowing. I plant a heartful now: some seed. At least is sure to strike, And yield-what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like!
Há 1 dia · Higgledy piggledy, packed we lie, Rats in a hamper, swine in a stye, Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve, Worms in a carcase, fleas in a sleeve. Hist! square shoulders, settle your thumbs. And buzz for the bishop---here he comes. IV. Bow, wow, wow---a bone for the dog! I liken his Grace to an acorned hog.
Há 4 dias · Under the footstool, being cowardly, But whom, since she was worth the pains, poor puss, Towzer and Tray, our dogs, the Atreidai, sought. By taking Troy to get possession of. Always when great Achilles ceased to sulk, (My pony in the stable), forth would prance. And put to flight Hector, our page-boy's self.
