Harper's Cyclopædia of British and American PoetryEpes Sargent Harper & Brothers, 1881 - 958 стор. |
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Сторінка 17
... thine by right , Move not thine heavy grace , thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see . ETERNAL LOVE . Leave me , O Love which reachest but to dust , And thou , my Mind , aspire to higher things ; Grow rich in that ...
... thine by right , Move not thine heavy grace , thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see . ETERNAL LOVE . Leave me , O Love which reachest but to dust , And thou , my Mind , aspire to higher things ; Grow rich in that ...
Сторінка 35
... Thine be the grief , as is the blame ; Thou art not what thou wast before : What reason I should be the same ? He that can love unloved again Hath better store of love than brain : God send me love my debts to pay , While unthrifts fool ...
... Thine be the grief , as is the blame ; Thou art not what thou wast before : What reason I should be the same ? He that can love unloved again Hath better store of love than brain : God send me love my debts to pay , While unthrifts fool ...
Сторінка 45
... thine eyes , And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup , And I'll not look for wine . The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine ...
... thine eyes , And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup , And I'll not look for wine . The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine ...
Сторінка 54
... thine . " Herrick's vein of poetry is of a high quality when he is at his best ; but sometimes he sinks to mere doggerel . His verses to flowers , for which he seems to have had a genuine love , are masterpieces of tenderness and grace ...
... thine . " Herrick's vein of poetry is of a high quality when he is at his best ; but sometimes he sinks to mere doggerel . His verses to flowers , for which he seems to have had a genuine love , are masterpieces of tenderness and grace ...
Сторінка 68
... thine for aye my land shall be . " Then John he did him to record draw , And John he gave him a god's - pennie ; ' But for every pound that John agreed , The land , I wis , was well worth three . He told him the gold upon the board ; He ...
... thine for aye my land shall be . " Then John he did him to record draw , And John he gave him a god's - pennie ; ' But for every pound that John agreed , The land , I wis , was well worth three . He told him the gold upon the board ; He ...
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Harper's Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry (Classic Reprint) Epes Sargent Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2018 |
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beauty Ben Jonson beneath Binnorie birds blessed bonny born breast breath bright brow busk Charles Lamb charms Chevy Chase clouds dark dead dear death deep delight divine doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fame father fear flowers frae glory grace green grief Grongar Hill hame hand happy hast hath Hazelgreen hear heart heaven heir of Linne hope hour immortal king kiss land lassie leave light live look Lord Lycidas mind morning mortal native Nature's ne'er never night numbers Nut-brown Maide o'er pain pleasure poem poet praise Robin Hood rose round Scotland shade shine sigh sing Sir Patrick Spens sleep smile song sonnets sorrow soul sound spirit stars Stutly sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought Twas verse voice waves weep wild wind wings wrote Yarrow young youth
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Сторінка 99 - 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-labor, light denied ?
Сторінка 413 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Сторінка 664 - art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Сторінка 664 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as
Сторінка 183 - 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.
Сторінка 290 - Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Сторінка 310 - And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.
Сторінка 414 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Сторінка 653 - And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!
Сторінка 663 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.