Golden Leaves from the British PoetsBunce and Huntington, 1866 - 546 σελίδες |
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Αποτελέσματα 1 - 5 από τα 55.
Σελίδα 11
... tell Against the bridal - day , which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly , till I end my song . Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer , Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder , Whose dreadful name late thro ' all Spain ...
... tell Against the bridal - day , which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly , till I end my song . Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer , Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder , Whose dreadful name late thro ' all Spain ...
Σελίδα 21
... tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine , Or sporting Kyd or Marlowe's mighty line . And though thou had small Latin and less Greek , From thence to honour thee I will not seek For names ; but call forth thund'ring Eschylus ...
... tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine , Or sporting Kyd or Marlowe's mighty line . And though thou had small Latin and less Greek , From thence to honour thee I will not seek For names ; but call forth thund'ring Eschylus ...
Σελίδα 36
... Tell her , that wastes her time and me That now she knows , When I resemble her to thee , How sweet and fair she seems to be . Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied , That hadst thou sprung In deserts , where no men ...
... Tell her , that wastes her time and me That now she knows , When I resemble her to thee , How sweet and fair she seems to be . Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied , That hadst thou sprung In deserts , where no men ...
Σελίδα 72
... Tell me , my soul ! can this be death ? The world recedes- it disappears ; Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend , lend your wings ! I mount , I fly ! O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy ...
... Tell me , my soul ! can this be death ? The world recedes- it disappears ; Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend , lend your wings ! I mount , I fly ! O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy ...
Σελίδα 77
... Tell me , ye jovial sailors , tell me true , If my sweet William sails among your crew . William , who high upon the yard Rocked with the billows to and fro , Soon as her well - known voice he heard , He sighed and cast his eyes below ...
... Tell me , ye jovial sailors , tell me true , If my sweet William sails among your crew . William , who high upon the yard Rocked with the billows to and fro , Soon as her well - known voice he heard , He sighed and cast his eyes below ...
Περιεχόμενα
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536 | |
Συχνά εμφανιζόμενοι όροι και φράσεις
art thou beauty beneath blessed blood blow bosom bower breast breath bright brow charm cheek cloud cowslips Cutty-sark dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair falchion fear flowers frae gaze gentle golden grace grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre holy hour king kiss lady land land of mist light lips live Lochaber Locksley Hall look Lord loud Lycidas lyre maid Marmion merry moon morn mother Muse ne'er never night nymph o'er pale passion pride Rory O'More rose round shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm sweet tale tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought Tis green Twas voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wing young youth
Δημοφιλή αποσπάσματα
Σελίδα 358 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Σελίδα 99 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Σελίδα 19 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Σελίδα 224 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Σελίδα 36 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Σελίδα 103 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Σελίδα 123 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Σελίδα 40 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Σελίδα 100 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Σελίδα 223 - The Sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners...