The Letters and Poems of John Keats, Том 3Dodd, Mead, 1883 |
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Сторінка 3
... moan Upon the midnight hours ; No voice , no lute , no pipe , no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming ; No shrine , no grove , no oracle , no heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming . O brightest ! though too late for antique ...
... moan Upon the midnight hours ; No voice , no lute , no pipe , no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming ; No shrine , no grove , no oracle , no heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming . O brightest ! though too late for antique ...
Сторінка 34
... moan , Spreading her perfect arms upon the air , And on her couch low murmuring , " Where ? O where ? " XXXI . But Selfishness , Love's cousin , held not long Its fiery vigil in her single breast ; She fretted for the golden hour , and ...
... moan , Spreading her perfect arms upon the air , And on her couch low murmuring , " Where ? O where ? " XXXI . But Selfishness , Love's cousin , held not long Its fiery vigil in her single breast ; She fretted for the golden hour , and ...
Сторінка 36
... moan'd a ghostly under - song , Like hoarse night - gusts sepulchral briars among . XXXVII . Its eyes , though wild , were still all dewy bright With love , and kept all phantom fear aloof From the poor girl by magic of their light ...
... moan'd a ghostly under - song , Like hoarse night - gusts sepulchral briars among . XXXVII . Its eyes , though wild , were still all dewy bright With love , and kept all phantom fear aloof From the poor girl by magic of their light ...
Сторінка 40
... d it , and low moan'd . ' Twas love ; cold , —dead indeed , but not dethroned . LI . In anxious secrecy they took it home , And then the prize was all for Isabel : She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb , 40 ISABELLA .
... d it , and low moan'd . ' Twas love ; cold , —dead indeed , but not dethroned . LI . In anxious secrecy they took it home , And then the prize was all for Isabel : She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb , 40 ISABELLA .
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 ...
Інші видання - Показати все
Загальні терміни та фрази
aching adieu Albert Auranthe beauty Bellanaine Bertha breath bright brow censer clouds cold Conrad Corinth dark death deep divine doth dream earth Emperor Enceladus Enter Erminia Ethelbert Exeunt eyes face faery fair fair lady Farewell fear feet flowers gentle Gersa Glocester gloom Goddess golden Gonfred hair hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven Hermes hour Hungarian hush Hyperion Imaus JOHN KEATS Kaims king lady Lamia light lips look look'd lord Ludolph Lycius melody Mnemosyne moan moon morn mortal Naiad night noble o'er once Otho pain pale pass'd Phorcus poor Porphyro Prince return'd Saturn seem'd shade Sigifred silent silver Sire sleep soft song sorrow soul Spirit stars stood sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tongue touch'd trembling turn'd twas voice warm weep whisper winds wine wings words