Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Adam angels appear arms behold bright bring brought cloud coming created dark death deep delight divine dwell earth eternal evil eyes fair faith fall Father fear fell field fire force fruit give glory Gods grace hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heav'n hell hill hope King land leave less light live look Lord lost mean Milton mind morn move nature never night once pain paradise peace perhaps praise reason receive reign replied rest rise round Satan seat seek side sight song sons soon sound spake spirits stand stars stood strength sweet taste thee thence things thou thought throne till tree true virtue voice wide winds wings
Сторінка 484 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
Сторінка 70 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor, So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Сторінка xv - I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth ; and, being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself ; kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth ; but a good book is the precious life-blood of...
Сторінка 24 - Robed in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight : While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Сторінка 68 - That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: — But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Сторінка 177 - Angels: for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Сторінка 69 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Сторінка 72 - Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st ; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark, Illumine ; what is low, raise and support; That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men.
Сторінка 162 - But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night, With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.
Сторінка 270 - As one who, long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe Among the pleasant villages and farms Adjoin'd, from each thing met conceives delight ; The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound...