Avril: Being Essays on the Poetry of the French Renaissance |
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Page 6
... half million of pure gold , had borne him in her youth to the King of France's brother : a man luxurious , over fine , exact in taste , a lover of magnificence in stories and words , decadent in a dying time , very brave . Through that ...
... half million of pure gold , had borne him in her youth to the King of France's brother : a man luxurious , over fine , exact in taste , a lover of magnificence in stories and words , decadent in a dying time , very brave . Through that ...
Page 8
... half his mother's fortune . It was not until the November of 1440 that he saw his country - side again . The verse formed in that long endurance ( a style which he preserved to the end in the many poems after his release ) may seem at a ...
... half his mother's fortune . It was not until the November of 1440 that he saw his country - side again . The verse formed in that long endurance ( a style which he preserved to the end in the many poems after his release ) may seem at a ...
Page 10
... half his verse written , he returned to his own place . He was in middle age — a man of fifty . He married soberly enough Mary of Cleves , ugly and young : he married her in order to cement the understand- ing with Burgundy . She did ...
... half his verse written , he returned to his own place . He was in middle age — a man of fifty . He married soberly enough Mary of Cleves , ugly and young : he married her in order to cement the understand- ing with Burgundy . She did ...
Page 11
... half regal , holding a court of song in Blois and Tours , a forerunner in verse of what the new time was to build in stone along the Loire . And it was at Amboise that he died . THE COMPLAINT . ( The 57th Ballade of those written II ...
... half regal , holding a court of song in Blois and Tours , a forerunner in verse of what the new time was to build in stone along the Loire . And it was at Amboise that he died . THE COMPLAINT . ( The 57th Ballade of those written II ...
Page 42
Hilaire Belloc. father , took his name from Mont - Corbier - half noble . Villon is but a little village over beyond the upper Yonne , near the division , within a day of the water - parting where the land falls southward to Burgundy and ...
Hilaire Belloc. father , took his name from Mont - Corbier - half noble . Villon is but a little village over beyond the upper Yonne , near the division , within a day of the water - parting where the land falls southward to Burgundy and ...
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Popular passages
Page 217 - L'augmenteront toujours? Le malheur de ta fille au tombeau descendue Par un commun trépas, Est-ce quelque dédale, où ta raison perdue Ne se retrouve pas ? Je sais de quels appas son enfance était pleine, Et n'ai pas entrepris : Injurieux ami, de soulager ta peine Avecque son mépris.
Page 217 - Mais elle était du monde où les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin, Et, rosé, elle a vécu ce que vivent les rosés, L'espace d'un matin.
Page 200 - Here richly, with ridiculous display, The Politician's corpse was laid away. While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
Page 161 - Voy quel orgueil, quelle ruine: et comme Celle qui mist le monde sous ses loix, Pour donter tout, se donta quelquefois, Et devint proye au temps, qui tout consomme. 8 Rome de Rome est le seul monument, Et Rome Rome a vaincu seulement.
Page 161 - Ces vieux palais, ces vieux arcz que tu vois, Et ces vieux murs, c'est ce que Rome on nomme.
Page 139 - Mignonne, allons voir si la rose Qui ce matin avoit desclose Sa robe de pourpre au soleil A point perdu ceste vesprée Les plis de sa robe pourprée, Et son teint au vostre pareil.
Page 218 - Et nous laisse crier. Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre, Est sujet à ses lois : Et la garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre «i N'en défend point nos rois.
Page 145 - Lors vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle, Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant, Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s'aille réveillant, Bénissant votre nom, de louange immortelle. Je...
Page 167 - D'une tremblante horreur fait hérisser ma peau. Las ! tes autres aigneaux n'ont faute de pasture, Ils ne craignent le loup, le vent, ny la froidure : Si ne suis-je pourtant le pire du troppeau. 3 Heureux qui, comme Ulysse...
Page 173 - Plus me plaist le séjour qu'ont basty mes ayeux, Que des palais Romains le front audacieux: Plus que le marbre dur me plaist l'ardoise fine, Plus mon Loyre Gaulois, que le Tybre Latin, Plus mon petit Lyre, que le mont Palatin, Et plus que l'air marin la doulceur Angevine.