Chapter I

used before a singular noun to mean one of a group, when it is not a particular one

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

higher than, or over, something

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

later than; following

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

surrounded by; in the middle of a group

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

the form of “a” used before a word that begins with a vowel sound

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used to join words or parts of a sentence that go together

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

at the same time that; because; in the way that

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

in or near a particular place or position

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

used with a past participle to form the passive, or with -ing for continuous tenses

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

earlier than; in front of

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

at or toward the back of something

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Directly under; in or to a lower position than.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used to introduce something that contrasts with what came before

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

to be able to, or to be allowed to

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

the past of “can”; used for possibility or polite requests

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

the past form of “do”, used in questions and negatives

From this reading Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ...

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Filled with or placed under the influence of magical power or charm.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

an old word for “before”

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

all the members of a group, with none left out

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

A hot glowing body of ignited gas produced by fire.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

intended to be given to, or used by, somebody

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

showing where something starts, or who sent it

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

used with a past participle to form the perfect tenses

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

the -ing form of “have”

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

a man, boy, or male animal already mentioned, as the subject

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

the male already mentioned, as the object of a verb or preposition

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

used when the man or boy doing the action is also its object

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

belonging to a man, boy, or male animal already mentioned

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

the person speaking or writing, as the subject of the verb

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

inside something, or within a place, period, or state

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

used to say something is possible, or to give permission

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

the person speaking, as the object of a verb or preposition

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Recollections of past events.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

belonging to the person speaking

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ...

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ...

and not; used after a negative to add a second negative

From this reading Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ...

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

belonging to, or connected with, somebody or something

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

touching and supported by a surface

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

used to join alternatives or possibilities

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

belonging to the speaker and others

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

hard to find or in short supply

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used with I and we for the future, or to offer and suggest

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

used to say what is right, expected, or advisable

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ...

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

used to introduce what somebody said, thought, or felt

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used before a noun that is already known, already mentioned, or the only one of its kind

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used for a person or thing that is near, or that has just been mentioned

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

a story-specific word describing an important person, object, action, or idea in this passage

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

up to a particular time

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

used before the base form of a verb to make the infinitive

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

an important story-specific word used in this passage

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death’s freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

up to a particular time

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

an old word for “to”

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

the past form of “be” used with I, he, she, it, or a singular noun

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

the speaker together with one or more other people

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

at the time that

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

in or at the place that

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

during the time that

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

which person or people

From this reading He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death’s hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown.

belonging to which person

From this reading But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother’s breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding ’neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father’s hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death!

used to talk about the future, or about willingness

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

in the company of; together with

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

Dictionary entry pending editorial verification. Tap Listen to hear the word.

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.

but in spite of that

From this reading _Six years ago, I wrote this story down,_ _While yet the light of Eastern skies_ _Was in my eyes,_ _And still my heart, aglow with memories_ _Of sun-enraptured seas,_ _And that old sea-girt town._ _Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night,_ _We stole, until we came_ _To where the great dome glimmered white._ _And every minaret,_ _A shaft of pearly flame,_ _Beneath the cloudy moon..._ _Six years ago!_ _Ah! soon--too soon,_ _Our tale, too, will be told:_ _And yet, and yet,_ _From this old Eastern tale we know,_ _Love’s story never can grow old,_ _Till Love, himself, forget._ He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green.