The poetical works of William Wordsworth, Том 1Edward Moxon, 1849 |
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Сторінка xiv
... singing from the inspiration of the Muse , Arma virumque cano ; ' but this is a fiction , in modern times , of slight value : the Iliad or the Paradise Lost would gain little in our estimation by being chanted . The other poets who ...
... singing from the inspiration of the Muse , Arma virumque cano ; ' but this is a fiction , in modern times , of slight value : the Iliad or the Paradise Lost would gain little in our estimation by being chanted . The other poets who ...
Сторінка 11
... . We talked of change , of winter gone , Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray , Of birds that build their nests and sing , And all " since Mother went away ! " To her these tales they will repeat , To her THE MOTHER'S RETURN .
... . We talked of change , of winter gone , Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray , Of birds that build their nests and sing , And all " since Mother went away ! " To her these tales they will repeat , To her THE MOTHER'S RETURN .
Сторінка 18
... see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild . O'er rough and smooth she trips along , And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind 1799 . IX . WE ARE SEVEN . A simple Child , 18 LUCY GRAY .
... see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild . O'er rough and smooth she trips along , And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind 1799 . IX . WE ARE SEVEN . A simple Child , 18 LUCY GRAY .
Сторінка 21
... sing a song to them . And often after sun - set , Sir , When it is light and fair , I take my little porringer , And eat my supper there . The first that died was sister Jane ; In bed she moaning lay , Till God released her of her pain ...
... sing a song to them . And often after sun - set , Sir , When it is light and fair , I take my little porringer , And eat my supper there . The first that died was sister Jane ; In bed she moaning lay , Till God released her of her pain ...
Сторінка 28
... sing : " What ails thee , young One ? what ? Why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and board ? Thy plot of grass is soft , and green as grass can be ; Rest , little young One , rest ; what is ' t that ...
... sing : " What ails thee , young One ? what ? Why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and board ? Thy plot of grass is soft , and green as grass can be ; Rest , little young One , rest ; what is ' t that ...
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Alps art thou babe beneath Benjamin Betty Betty Foy bird blessed bowers breast breath bright brook CHARLES LAMB cheer child church-yard clouds cottage cried dead dear delight door dread earth Ennerdale eyes Fancy father fear flowers gale gleam gone Grasmere grave green happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope horse hour Idiot Boy images Johnny Kilve lamb LEONARD light live look Luke lyre Maid marsh-marigold mind moon mother mountains never night o'er pain passed pleasure Poem Poet poor porringer PRIEST racter rill road rocks round RYDAL MOUNT SALISBURY PLAIN shade Shepherd side sight silent sing sleep snow song sorrow soul sound steep Susan sweet sweetest thing tears tell thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas vale voice waggon waterfall ween wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wood word Youth
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Сторінка 19 - SEVEN. -A SIMPLE child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; •*—Her beauty made me glad. 22 " Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Сторінка 38 - Wisdom and spirit of the universe ! Thou soul that art the eternity of thought, That givest to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion, not in vain By day or star-light thus from my first dawn Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul...
Сторінка 16 - That, father ! will I gladly do : 'Tis scarcely afternoon — The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon.
Сторінка 20 - Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ?" " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they ? I pray you tell.
Сторінка 223 - Where was their occupation and abode. And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30 For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life. Therefore, although it be a history Homely and rude, I will relate the same For the delight of a few natural hearts ; And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake Of youthful Poets,...
Сторінка 3 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Сторінка 40 - Tinkled like iron; while far distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the reflex of a star That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed Upon the glassy plain...
Сторінка xx - He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noonday grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love. The...
Сторінка xxxiii - She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Сторінка 239 - tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.