Psychological Monographs: General and Applied

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American Psychological Association, 1915 - 132 páginas

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Página 93 - So still, the golden lizard on him paused, A phantom made of many phantoms moved Before him haunting him, or he himself Moved haunting people, things and places, known Far in a darker isle beyond the line; The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house, The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes, The...
Página 98 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Página 90 - Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being ; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity...
Página 91 - Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure.' He spoke ; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and...
Página 100 - I will, with engines never exercised, Conquer, sack, and utterly consume Your cities and your golden palaces, And, with the flames that beat against the clouds, Incense the Heavens, and make the stars to...
Página 95 - The other shape, If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either : black it stood as night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head, The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Página 90 - And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity; They pass like spirits of the past...
Página 94 - Sate near him, talking in low solemn tones. Her voice was like the voice of his own soul, Heard in the calm of thought : its music long, Like woven sounds of streams and breezes, held His inmost sense suspended in its web Of many-coloured woof and shifting hues.
Página 81 - With inward stillness, and a bowed mind ; When lo ! its folds far waving on the wind, I saw the train of the departing Year ! Starting from my silent sadness Then with no unholy madness Ere yet the entered...
Página 91 - So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. As those black granite pillars, once...