The Letters and Poems of John Keats, Том 3 |
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... Or on the rainbow of the salt sand - wave , Or on the wealth of globed peonies ; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows , Emprison her soft hand , and let her rave , And feed deep , deep upon her peerless eyes .
... Or on the rainbow of the salt sand - wave , Or on the wealth of globed peonies ; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows , Emprison her soft hand , and let her rave , And feed deep , deep upon her peerless eyes .
Сторінка 8
O for a draught of vintage , that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep - delved earth , Tasting of Flora and the country - green , Dance , and Provençal song , and sun - burnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South , Full of ...
O for a draught of vintage , that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep - delved earth , Tasting of Flora and the country - green , Dance , and Provençal song , and sun - burnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South , Full of ...
Сторінка 10
... Up the hill - side ; and now ' tis buried deep In the next valley - glades : Was it a vision , or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : - do I wake or sleep ? ON A GRECIAN URN . C HOU still unravish'd bride IO ODES .
... Up the hill - side ; and now ' tis buried deep In the next valley - glades : Was it a vision , or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : - do I wake or sleep ? ON A GRECIAN URN . C HOU still unravish'd bride IO ODES .
Сторінка 13
Was it a silent deep - disguised plot To steal away , and leave without a task My idle days ? Ripe was the drowsy hour ; The blissful cloud of summer - indolence Benumb'd my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ; Pain had no sting ...
Was it a silent deep - disguised plot To steal away , and leave without a task My idle days ? Ripe was the drowsy hour ; The blissful cloud of summer - indolence Benumb'd my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ; Pain had no sting ...
Сторінка 42
Moan hither , all ye syllables of woe , From the deep throat of sad Melpomene ! Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go , And touch the strings into a mystery ; Sound mournfully upon the winds and low ; For simple Isabel is soon to be ...
Moan hither , all ye syllables of woe , From the deep throat of sad Melpomene ! Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go , And touch the strings into a mystery ; Sound mournfully upon the winds and low ; For simple Isabel is soon to be ...
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Albert arms Auranthe beauty breathe bright close clouds cold comes Conrad dark dead death deep door doth dream earth Emperor Enter Erminia Ethelbert eyes face fair fear feel feet fire flowers follow Gersa give gold golden green hair hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hour keep king lady leave light lips live look lord Ludolph Lycius moan moon morn mortal never night noble once Otho pain pale pass poor Prince rose round Saturn SCENE seen shade side Sigifred silent silver sleep soft sorrow soul speak Spirit stars step stood sure sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tongue took turn voice warm weep whisper wide winds wine wings young