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Сторінка 153 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Сторінка 175 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Сторінка 153 - But the Nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord, what music hast thou provided for the Saints in Heaven, when thou...
Сторінка 168 - Contingencies of pomp ; and serve to exalt Her native brightness. As the ample moon, In the deep stillness of a summer even Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light, In the green trees ; and, kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own, Yea, with her own incorporated, by power Capacious and serene.
Сторінка 168 - Left them ungifted with a power to yield Music of finer tone ; a harmony, So do I call it, though it be the hand Of silence, though there be no voice : the clouds, The mist, the shadows, light of golden suns, Motions of moonlight, all come thither, — touch, And have an answer, — thither come, and shape A language not unwelcome to sick hearts And idle spirits : there the Sun himself, At the calm close of Summer's longest day, Rests his substantial orb : between those heights And on the top of...
Сторінка 165 - They shall call the people unto the mountain; There they shall offer sacrifices of righteousness : For they shall suck of the abundance of the seas, And of treasures hid in the sand.
Сторінка 153 - Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.