why talk of beauty what could be more beaut- iful than these heroic happy dead who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter they did not stop to think they died instead then shall the voices of liberty be mute? He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water.
A Poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit.Archibald MacLeish
Yet the stones remain less real to those who cannot name them, or read the mute syllables graven in silica. To see a red stone is less than seeing it as jasper – metamorphic quartz, cousin to the flint the Kiowa carved as arrowheads. To name is to know and remember. Sin embargo, las piedras se vuelven menos reales Para quienes no pueden nombrarlas ni leer Las mudas sílabas sepultadas en el sílice. Ver una piedra roja es menos que verla como jaspe, Metamórfico cuarzo, pariente del pedernal que los kiowa Tallaron como puntas de sus flechas. Nombrar es conocer y recordar.dana gioia
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues.john milton
But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: My mind may loose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire. Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.Rochdale
Who's in charge here? [mute soldier thumps breastplate] Where is the air support?
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called,'La belle dame sans mercy'.john keats
The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute onTara's walls As if that soul were fled.thomas moore
The harp that once through Tara's hallsThe soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Tara's wallsAs if that soul were fled.So sleeps the pride of former days,So glory's thrill is o'er;And hearts that once beat high for praiseNow feel that pulse no more.thomas moore
I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds; The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.john milton
Das Schicksal des jüdischen Volkes ist das Schicksal Makbeths, der aus der Natur selbst trat, sich an fremde Wesen hing, und so in ihrem Dienste alles Heilige der menschlichen Natur zertreten und ermorden, von seinen Göttern (denn es waren Objekte, er war Knecht) endlich verlassen, und an seinem Glauben selbst zerschmettert werden mußte.georg wilhelm friedrich hegel
The building itself is hostile: cracked plaster, broken windows, splintered doors and carved up desks, gloomy corridors and metal stairways, dingy cafeteria (they can eat sitting down only in 20 minute shifts) and an auditorium which has no windows. It does have murals, however, depicting mute, muscular harvesters, faded and immobile under a mustard sun.bel kaufman
He that doth refuse to put himself upon his legal trial of God and the Country, is a mute in law; and therefore you must plead guilty or not guilty. Let his language be what it will, he is a mute in law.
Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.william shakespeare
Hear his sighs though mute; Unskillful with what words to pray, let me Interpret for him.john milton
When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit, What life, what glorious eagerness it is, Then mark how full Possession falls from this, How fairer seems the blossom than the fruit, I am perplext, and often stricken mute, Wondering which attained the higher bliss, The wing'd insect, or the chrysalis It thrust aside with unreluctant foot.thomas bailey aldrich
Call it not vain:they do not err Who say, that when the Poet dies, mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.
mute in the clamour of shells he watched them burstSpouting dark earth and wire with gusts from hell,While posturing giants dissolved in drifts of smoke.He crouched and flinched, dizzy with galloping fear,Sick for escape,— loathing the strangled horrorAnd butchered, frantic gestures of the dead.siegfried sassoon