A Poetry-book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics ; Selected and Arranged with Notes from the Works of the Modern English and American Poets, Dating from the Middle of the Eighteenth Century to the Present Time
Tauchnitz, 1878 - 334 стор.
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A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs and Sonnets, Odes and ...
Amelia Blanford Edwards
Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2017
AUTUMN battle beautiful bells beneath bird blow boys breath bright close clouds cold comes dark dead dear death deep door dream earth eyes face fair fall feel feet fire flow flowers follow glory gold golden gone grave green grow hair hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hour king kiss Lady land leaves light Line living look Lord moon morn never night o'er once Page poem Poets rain rest river rolling rose round sand shade silent sing sleep snow soft song soul sound spirit spring stand stars STORM stream summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tree Verse voice warm waters waves wild wind wings young
Сторінка 76 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Сторінка 140 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms, and winding mossy ways.
Сторінка 143 - TO A WATERFOWL. WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Сторінка 227 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Сторінка 218 - THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Сторінка 62 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Сторінка 140 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Сторінка 148 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, •An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Сторінка 256 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!