British Anthologies, Том 6Edward Arber Henry Frowde, 1899 |
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... ! These are my drowsy days ! In vain I do now wake ; to sleep again ! O , come that hour , when I shall never Sleep again ; but wake for ever ! NOT that I wish my Mistress More , or less BRIT . ANTH . VI . 3 D Sir Thomas Browne .
... ! These are my drowsy days ! In vain I do now wake ; to sleep again ! O , come that hour , when I shall never Sleep again ; but wake for ever ! NOT that I wish my Mistress More , or less BRIT . ANTH . VI . 3 D Sir Thomas Browne .
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Edward Arber. NOT that I wish my Mistress More , or less , than what She is , Write I these lines ! For ' tis too late , Rules to prescribe unto my fate ! But yet , as tender stomachs call For some choice meat , that bear not all ; A ...
Edward Arber. NOT that I wish my Mistress More , or less , than what She is , Write I these lines ! For ' tis too late , Rules to prescribe unto my fate ! But yet , as tender stomachs call For some choice meat , that bear not all ; A ...
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Edward Arber. And I would wish her true to be , Mistake me not ! I mean to me ! She that loves me , and loves one more , Will love the Kingdom o'er and o'er ! And I could wish her full of wit ; Knew She how for to housewife it ! But she ...
Edward Arber. And I would wish her true to be , Mistake me not ! I mean to me ! She that loves me , and loves one more , Will love the Kingdom o'er and o'er ! And I could wish her full of wit ; Knew She how for to housewife it ! But she ...
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... As if Their Wisdoms had conspired The salamander should be burned : And like those Sophies , who would drown a fish ; I am condemned to suffer what I wish . The Cynic hugs his poverty ; The pelican , her 68 Sir Roger L'Estrange .
... As if Their Wisdoms had conspired The salamander should be burned : And like those Sophies , who would drown a fish ; I am condemned to suffer what I wish . The Cynic hugs his poverty ; The pelican , her 68 Sir Roger L'Estrange .
Сторінка 124
... apace ; Before we can be aware of ! HIS WISH TO PRIVACY . GIVE me a cell To dwell , Where no foot hath A path ! There , will I spend , And end , My wearied years In tears ! THE HAG . THE Hag is astride , This night 124 Rev. Robert Herrick .
... apace ; Before we can be aware of ! HIS WISH TO PRIVACY . GIVE me a cell To dwell , Where no foot hath A path ! There , will I spend , And end , My wearied years In tears ! THE HAG . THE Hag is astride , This night 124 Rev. Robert Herrick .
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ANARCHUS ANTHOLOGY beauty best fits breast bright cheek CHERRY RIPE CHLORIS Crown 8vo CUPID curchy dare dart death delight dost doth Duchess of Newcastle earth Edited Extra fcap eyes fair fair Ladies fate fear fire fits a little flame flowers give grace hair hath heart Heaven his soul HERRICK Hesperides home in peace Honour India Paper King comes home kiss Lady Leather Bottel lips Love's Lover LYCIDAS Maid Margaret Cavendish MASTER HUMPHREY Maypole Mistress Muscadel ne'er never night o'er Oxford India Paper PHILARCHUS PHILORTHUS pity play pleasures Poems powerful noise praise roses scorn shine sighs sing smile soul may dwell stars sweet tears tell thee thine things Thomas Washbourne thou art thou shalt TIBULLUS W. W. SKEAT wanton weep Whilst wind wine wings wish in Heaven wound Youth
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Сторінка 24 - And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
Сторінка 21 - There held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing...
Сторінка 8 - And all their echoes mourn. The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
Сторінка 23 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ! Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing "Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made hell grant what love did seek...
Сторінка 7 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
Сторінка 13 - Through the dear might of him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexprcssive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
Сторінка 19 - And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Сторінка 55 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Сторінка 7 - And, as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill...
Сторінка 18 - And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold...