The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English LanguageMacmillan and Company, 1867 - 332 стор. |
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Сторінка 9
... rose in it thou art my all . W. Shakespeare 9 XIV To me , fair Friend , you never can be old , For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still . Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers ...
... rose in it thou art my all . W. Shakespeare 9 XIV To me , fair Friend , you never can be old , For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still . Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers ...
Сторінка 26
... rose his tomb , Disdains to crop a weed , and will not come . XLIV W. Drummond DIRGE OF LOVE Come away , come away , Death , And in sad cypres let me be laid ; Fly away , fly away , breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid . 24 My ...
... rose his tomb , Disdains to crop a weed , and will not come . XLIV W. Drummond DIRGE OF LOVE Come away , come away , Death , And in sad cypres let me be laid ; Fly away , fly away , breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid . 24 My ...
Сторінка 30
... rose Growing on's cheek ( but none knows how ) ; With these , the crystal of his brow , And then the dimple on his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win : At last he set her both his eyes- She won , and Cupid blind did rise . O Love ...
... rose Growing on's cheek ( but none knows how ) ; With these , the crystal of his brow , And then the dimple on his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win : At last he set her both his eyes- She won , and Cupid blind did rise . O Love ...
Сторінка 54
... rose at evening bright , Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel . Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute , Temper'd to the oaten flute ; Rough Satyrs danced , and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not ...
... rose at evening bright , Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel . Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute , Temper'd to the oaten flute ; Rough Satyrs danced , and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not ...
Сторінка 55
Francis Turner Palgrave. As killing as the canker to the rose , Or taint - worm to the weanling herds that graze , Or frost to flowers , that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white - thorn blows ; Such , Lycidas , thy loss to ...
Francis Turner Palgrave. As killing as the canker to the rose , Or taint - worm to the weanling herds that graze , Or frost to flowers , that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white - thorn blows ; Such , Lycidas , thy loss to ...
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The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language Повний перегляд - 1863 |
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Arethuse art thou beauty behold beneath birds blest bonnie bower breast breath bright Brignall brow cheek clouds County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA eyes fair Fancy fear flowers frae FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE gentle glory golden golden slumbers green happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills John Anderson kiss ladies leaves light live look'd Lord Lord Byron love's lover Lycidas lyre mind morn mountains Muse ne'er never night nonny numbers Nymph o'er P. B. Shelley pale passion pleasure poems Poetry Poets round Rule Britannia seem'd shade Shakespeare shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee There's thine thou art thought tree Twas verse voice waly waly waves weep wild winds wings Wordsworth Yarrow youth
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Сторінка 202 - Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men. Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Сторінка 113 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Сторінка 25 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.
Сторінка 139 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield...
Сторінка 251 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Сторінка 195 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ; For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave...
Сторінка 140 - The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land And read their history in a nation's eyes...
Сторінка 15 - A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit, tu-who, A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Сторінка 141 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Сторінка 141 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.