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!

anew

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.

softly bright or radiant

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 past

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.

plural of “alley” — a narrow street with walls on both sides

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.

a mark to indicate a direction or relation

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.

aroused or activated

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!

plural of “beast” — a living organism characterized by voluntary movement

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.

inflected form of “blot” — dry (ink) with blotting paper

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!

past form of “borrow” — get temporarily

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 knot with two loops and loose ends; used to tie shoelaces

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!

a youthful male 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!

plural of “branch” — a division of some larger or more complex organization

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 front of the trunk from the neck to the abdomen

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!

physically and forcibly separated into pieces or cracked or split

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.

plural of “brother” — a male with the same parents as someone else

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.

shop around; not necessarily buying

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!

any succulent plant of the family Cactaceae native chiefly to arid regions of the New World and usually having spines

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.

inflected form of “come” — move toward, travel toward something or somebody or approach something or somebody

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.

a person who is confined; especially a prisoner of war

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!

past form of “care” — feel concern or interest

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 assertion of a right (as to money or property)

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.

unpleasantly cool and humid

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!

lacking definite form or limits

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.

past form of “clutch” — take hold of; grab

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.

having a low or inadequate temperature or feeling a sensation of coldness or having been made cold by e.g. ice or refrigeration

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.

a quality of spirit that enables you to face danger or pain without showing fear

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.

make a crackling sound

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!

-ing form of “crouch” — bend one's back forward from the waist on down

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 Crown (or the reigning monarch) as the symbol of the power and authority of a monarchy

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.

form a curl, curve, or kink

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.

absence of light or illumination

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.

time for Earth to make a complete rotation on its axis

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 event of dying or departure from life

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.

possessive form of “death” — the event of dying or departure from life

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 ...

a concave shape whose distinguishing characteristic is that the concavity faces downward

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.

being or moving lower in position or less in some value

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.

fearful expectation or anticipation

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.

remove the dust from

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 associated with the process of passing from life or ceasing to be

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!

lying toward or situated in the east

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.

hinge joint between the forearm and upper arm and the corresponding joint in the forelimb of a quadruped

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.

plural of “ember” — a hot fragment of wood or coal that is left from a fire and is glowing or smoldering

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.

be identical or equivalent to

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!

divisible by two

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 any time

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.

opinion or judgment

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.

very far away in space or time

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.

possessive form of “father” — a male parent (also used as a term of address to your father)

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!

be afraid or feel anxious or apprehensive about a possible or probable situation or event

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!

oblivious of dangers or perils or calmly resolute in facing them

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!

plural of “foot” — the part of the leg of a human being below the ankle joint

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.

mat together and make felt-like

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!

plural of “finger” — any of the terminal members of the hand (sometimes excepting the thumb)

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.

preceding all others in time or space or degree

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.

inflected form of “fling” — throw with force or recklessness

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!

dismiss from the mind; stop remembering

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 condition of being free; the power to act or speak or think without externally imposed restraints

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.

characteristic of or befitting a friend

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.

very thin especially from disease or hunger or cold

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!

bright and pleasant; promoting a feeling of cheer

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 activity of flying a glider

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.

relatively large in size or number or extent; larger than others 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.

green color or pigment; resembling the color of growing grass

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.

totally submissive

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.

pass into a condition gradually, take on a specific property or attribute; become

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 (prehensile) extremity of the superior limb

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.

the upper part of the human body or the front part of the body in animals; contains the face and brains

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 locus of feelings and intuitions

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.

occupied or in the control of; often used in combination

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.

a period of time equal to 1/24th of a day

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.

not in action or at work

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.

continue talking or writing in a desultory manner

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!

a male sovereign; ruler of a kingdom

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 domain in which something is dominant

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.

inflected form of “know” — be cognizant or aware of a fact or a specific piece of information; possess knowledge or information about

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.

be cognizant or aware of a fact or a specific piece of information; possess knowledge or information about

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.

to incline or bend from a vertical position

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 sly or knowing malice in a glance

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!

a characteristic state or mode of living

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.

of comparatively little physical weight or density

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.

without good reason

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.

plural of “lip” — either of two fleshy folds of tissue that surround the mouth and play a role in speaking

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.

limited or below average in number or quantity or magnitude or extent

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!

a strong positive emotion of regard and affection

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.

possessive form of “love” — a strong positive emotion of regard and affection

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.

informal terms for the mouth

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.

slender tower with balconies

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 natural satellite of the Earth

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 time period between dawn and noon

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.

possessive form of “mother” — a woman who has given birth to a child (also used as a term of address to your mother)

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!

-ing form of “mouth” — express in speech

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.

indistinct enunciation

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.

completely unclothed

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!

make or become more narrow or restricted

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!

a quantity of no importance

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!

a condition requiring relief

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!

not ever; at no time in the past or future

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.

not of long duration; having just (or relatively recently) come into being or been made or acquired or discovered

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

the time after sunset and before sunrise while it is dark outside

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!

express or signify by nodding

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.

many times at short intervals

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 especially of persons) having lived for a relatively long time or attained a specific age

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!

and nothing more

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.

not allowed to continue to bat or run

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!

of a white the color of pearls

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.

be motionless, in suspension

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 purple color or pigment

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.

conforming to the established language usage of educated native speakers

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.

tall woody perennial grasses with hollow slender stems especially of the genera Arundo and Phragmites

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.

only a very short time 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 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.

plural of “sea” — a division of an ocean or a large body of salt water partially enclosed by land

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.

perceive by sight or have the power to perceive by sight

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.

state of subjection to an owner or master or forced labor imposed as punishment

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 line that forms the length of an arrow pointer

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.

any spatial attributes (especially as defined by outline)

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!

(of something seen or heard) clearly defined

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.

plural of “shoulder” — the part of the body between the neck and the upper arm

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 cardinal number that is the sum of five and 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.

plural of “sky” — the atmosphere and outer space as viewed from the earth

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.

plural of “slash” — a wound made by cutting

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 person who is owned by someone

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.

plural of “slave” — a person who is owned by someone

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!

a natural and periodic state of rest during which consciousness of the world is suspended

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!

plural of “snake” — limbless scaly elongate reptile; some are venomous

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!

utter in an angry, sharp, or abrupt tone

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!

-ing form of “snatch” — to grasp hastily or eagerly

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!

past form of “snuff” — sniff or smell inquiringly

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 underside of footwear or a golf club

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!

in the near future

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.

plural of “spoil” — (usually plural) valuables taken by violence (especially in war)

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 season of growth

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.

plural of “star” — (astronomy) a celestial body of hot gases that radiates energy derived from thermonuclear reactions in the interior

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!

excited by sudden surprise or alarm and making a quick involuntary movement

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!

not in physical motion

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 wide scarf worn about their shoulders by women

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 message that tells the particulars of an act or occurrence or course of events; presented in writing or drama or cinema or as a radio or television program

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.

lacking natural ease

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!

a plant adapted to arid conditions and characterized by fleshy water-storing tissues that act as water reservoirs

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.

carry out

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

understood in a certain way; made sense 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!

a message that tells the particulars of an act or occurrence or course of events; presented in writing or drama or cinema or as a radio or television program

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 overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety

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.

the content of cognition; the main thing you are thinking about

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.

from one end or side of something to the other

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!

inflected form of “tell” — express in words

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.

to a degree exceeding normal or proper limits

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.

past form of “topple” — fall down, as if collapsing

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.

move without being stable, as if threatening to fall

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 urban area with a fixed boundary that is smaller than a city

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.

plural of “tread” — a step in walking or running

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.

move or jerk quickly and involuntarily up and down or sideways

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.

make an uncontrolled, short, jerky motion

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.

erect in posture

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!

not injured or harmed

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.

a Caucasian

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.

people who are wounded

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.

inflected form of “write” — produce a literary work

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 late time of life

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.