The Poetical Works of John Keats: With a LifeLittle, Brown. Shepard, Clark and Brown, 1859 - 438 стор. |
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Сторінка xvi
... looks for and finds merit . Keats longed for fame , but longed above all to deserve it . Thrilling with the electric touch of sacred leaves , he saw in vision , like Dante , that small procession of the elder poets to which only elect ...
... looks for and finds merit . Keats longed for fame , but longed above all to deserve it . Thrilling with the electric touch of sacred leaves , he saw in vision , like Dante , that small procession of the elder poets to which only elect ...
Сторінка xxi
... look upon it rather as one of the phenomena of that multanimous nature of the poet , which makes him for the moment that which he has an intellectual perception of . Elsewhere he says something which seems to hint at the true state of ...
... look upon it rather as one of the phenomena of that multanimous nature of the poet , which makes him for the moment that which he has an intellectual perception of . Elsewhere he says something which seems to hint at the true state of ...
Сторінка xxiii
... look ; she has fine eyes , and fine manners . When she comes into a room , she makes the same impression as the beauty of a leopardess . She is too fine and too conscious of herself to repulse any man who may address her . From habit ...
... look ; she has fine eyes , and fine manners . When she comes into a room , she makes the same impression as the beauty of a leopardess . She is too fine and too conscious of herself to repulse any man who may address her . From habit ...
Сторінка xxviii
... a letter from her to see her hand- writing would break my heart - Even to hear of her anyhow , to see her name written , would be more than I can bear . My dear Brown , what am I to do ? Where can I look for xxviii THE LIFE OF KEATS .
... a letter from her to see her hand- writing would break my heart - Even to hear of her anyhow , to see her name written , would be more than I can bear . My dear Brown , what am I to do ? Where can I look for xxviii THE LIFE OF KEATS .
Сторінка xxix
With a Life John Keats. am I to do ? Where can I look for consolation or ease ? If I had any chance of recovery , this passion would kill me . Indeed , through the whole of my illness , both at your house and at Kentish Town , this fever ...
With a Life John Keats. am I to do ? Where can I look for consolation or ease ? If I had any chance of recovery , this passion would kill me . Indeed , through the whole of my illness , both at your house and at Kentish Town , this fever ...
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Adieu Apollo Arethusa art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE cheek chidden clouds Corinth dark death deep delight divine dost doth dream earth Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven Hermes Hyperion Keats kiss Lamia leaves light lips lone look lute Lycius lyre melodies moon morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymph o'er once pain pale pass'd passion pleasant pleasure poet rill ring-dove rose round Saturn Satyrs Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice warm weep whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Сторінка 287 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Сторінка 197 - Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage : not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
Сторінка 288 - Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.
Сторінка 369 - My spirit is too weak — Mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Сторінка ix - And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority...
Сторінка 302 - 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.
Сторінка 390 - I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried— "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
Сторінка 202 - Of fruits and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush 'd with blood of queens and kings.
Сторінка 418 - Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors: — No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, — or else swoon to death.
Сторінка 198 - Good Saints! not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.