The Poetical Works of John KeatsEdward Moxon & Company, Dover street., 1863 - 301 стор. |
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Сторінка 22
... dead . You think she has many faults , but for my sake think she has not one . If there is anything you can do for her by word or deed , I know you will do it . I am in a state at present in which woman , merely as woman , can have no ...
... dead . You think she has many faults , but for my sake think she has not one . If there is anything you can do for her by word or deed , I know you will do it . I am in a state at present in which woman , merely as woman , can have no ...
Сторінка 35
... dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink , Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink . Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour ; no , even as the trees That whisper round a ...
... dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink , Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink . Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour ; no , even as the trees That whisper round a ...
Сторінка 44
... dead , But in old marbles ever beautiful . High genitors , unconscious did they cull Time's sweet first - fruits they danced to weariness , And then in quiet circles did they press The hillock turf , and caught the latter end Of some ...
... dead , But in old marbles ever beautiful . High genitors , unconscious did they cull Time's sweet first - fruits they danced to weariness , And then in quiet circles did they press The hillock turf , and caught the latter end Of some ...
Сторінка 46
... dead - still as a marble man , Frozen in that old tale Arabian . Who whispers him so pantingly and close ? Peona , his sweet sister : of all those , His friends , the dearest . Hushing signs she made , And breathed a sister's sorrow to ...
... dead - still as a marble man , Frozen in that old tale Arabian . Who whispers him so pantingly and close ? Peona , his sweet sister : of all those , His friends , the dearest . Hushing signs she made , And breathed a sister's sorrow to ...
Сторінка 70
... dead , Roused by his whispering footsteps , murmur'd faint And long he traversed to and fro , to acquaint Himself with every mystery , and awe ; Till , weary , he sat down before the maw Of a wide outlet , fathomless and dim , To wild ...
... dead , Roused by his whispering footsteps , murmur'd faint And long he traversed to and fro , to acquaint Himself with every mystery , and awe ; Till , weary , he sat down before the maw Of a wide outlet , fathomless and dim , To wild ...
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Adieu Apollo art thou beauty beneath Beneath the silence bliss blue bower breast breath bright buds censer CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE clouds Corinth dark dear delight divine dost doth dream Dryad e'er earth ELGIN MARBLES Elysium Endymion eyes face fair fancy feel flowers forest gentle golden Gondibert gone green hair hand happy head heart heaven Keats kiss Lamia leaves light lips look lute Lycius lyre melodies Mermaid Tavern morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymphs o'er pain pale pinions pleasant pleasure poesy poet rills ring-doves rose round Saturn seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars stept stood strange streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice warm weep whence whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Сторінка 265 - 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 redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Сторінка 189 - St Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold : Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith...
Сторінка 266 - She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to Poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine...
Сторінка 35 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Сторінка 256 - Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; 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 ? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.
Сторінка 199 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Сторінка 16 - And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority...
Сторінка 348 - I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
Сторінка 167 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy ? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven : We know her woof, her texture ; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Сторінка 264 - To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.