The poetical works of John Keats, ed. by W.B. Scott, Випуск 639George Routledge and sons, the Broadway, Ludgate., 1873 - 351 стор. |
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Сторінка xx
... thou , whose infamy is not thy fame ! Live ! fear no heavier chastisement from me , And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow : Remorse and self - contempt shall cling to thee ; Hot Shame shall burn ...
... thou , whose infamy is not thy fame ! Live ! fear no heavier chastisement from me , And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow : Remorse and self - contempt shall cling to thee ; Hot Shame shall burn ...
Сторінка 10
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , turtles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , turtles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
Сторінка 17
... with a healthier brain , He said : " I feel this thine endearing love All through my bosom : thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such Endymion . 17.
... with a healthier brain , He said : " I feel this thine endearing love All through my bosom : thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such Endymion . 17.
Сторінка 18
... thou cheered , sweet ! And , if thy lute is here , softly entreat My soul to keep in its resolved course . " Hereat Peona , in their silver source , Shut her pure sorrow - drops with glad exclaim , And took a lute , from which there ...
... thou cheered , sweet ! And , if thy lute is here , softly entreat My soul to keep in its resolved course . " Hereat Peona , in their silver source , Shut her pure sorrow - drops with glad exclaim , And took a lute , from which there ...
Сторінка 19
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
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adieu Apollo Arethusa art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian censer chidden clouds cold cool Corinth dark death deep delight divine dost doth dream ears earth Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven Hermes Hyperion immortal John Keats Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lute Lycius lyre melodies moon morning mortal mossy muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd passion pinions pleasant rill rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought touch'd trees trembling twas voice warm weep whence whisper wild wind wings wonder young youth
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Сторінка 318 - 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 273 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; 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?
Сторінка 272 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
Сторінка 279 - And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreathed trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same: And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in ! FANCY.
Сторінка 275 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. Though winning near the goal — yet do not grieve: She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love!
Сторінка 269 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Сторінка 321 - To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Сторінка 191 - As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
Сторінка 2 - Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Сторінка 204 - And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffinworm. Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform ; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.