The Poetical Works of John KeatsW. Smith, 1841 - 240 стор. |
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Сторінка 13
... cool bosom she was used to bring Her playmates , with their needle broidery , And minstrel memories of times gone by . So she was gently glad to see him laid Under her favourite bower's quiet shade , On her own couch , new made of ...
... cool bosom she was used to bring Her playmates , with their needle broidery , And minstrel memories of times gone by . So she was gently glad to see him laid Under her favourite bower's quiet shade , On her own couch , new made of ...
Сторінка 22
... cool and bunched leaves- She sings but to her love , nor e'er conceives How tiptoe Night holds back her dark - grey hood . Just so may love , although ' t is understood The mere commingling of passionate breath , Produce more than our ...
... cool and bunched leaves- She sings but to her love , nor e'er conceives How tiptoe Night holds back her dark - grey hood . Just so may love , although ' t is understood The mere commingling of passionate breath , Produce more than our ...
Сторінка 23
... cool cell , Far as the slabbed margin of a well , Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye Right upward , through the bushes , to the sky . Oft have I brought thee flowers , on their stalks set Like vestal primroses , but dark velvet ...
... cool cell , Far as the slabbed margin of a well , Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye Right upward , through the bushes , to the sky . Oft have I brought thee flowers , on their stalks set Like vestal primroses , but dark velvet ...
Сторінка 24
... cool depth . - It moved as if to flee- I started up , when lo ! refreshfully , There came upon my face , in plenteous showers , Dew - drops , and dewy buds , and leaves , and flowers , Wrapping all objects from my smother'd sight ...
... cool depth . - It moved as if to flee- I started up , when lo ! refreshfully , There came upon my face , in plenteous showers , Dew - drops , and dewy buds , and leaves , and flowers , Wrapping all objects from my smother'd sight ...
Сторінка 25
... cool and sluicy sands : Or ' t is the cell of Echo , where she sits , And babbles thorough silence , till her wits Are gone in tender madness , and anon , Faints into sleep , with many a dying tone Of sadness . O that she would take my ...
... cool and sluicy sands : Or ' t is the cell of Echo , where she sits , And babbles thorough silence , till her wits Are gone in tender madness , and anon , Faints into sleep , with many a dying tone Of sadness . O that she would take my ...
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adieu Apollo Arethusa Art thou Bacchus beauty behold beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian censer chidden clouds cool Corinth dark deep delight divine dost doth dream earth Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven Hermes hour Hyperion immortal kiss Lamia leaves light lips lone lute Lycius lyre melodies Mermaid Tavern morning mortal mossy Muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd Phorcus pinions pleasant pleasure rill ringdove 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 Vex'd voice weep whence whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Сторінка 201 - Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young...
Сторінка 225 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Сторінка 207 - 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 207 - 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 181 - Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight : With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Сторінка 200 - 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?
Сторінка 200 - 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 146 - She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide ! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
Сторінка 3 - Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season ; the mid-forest brake. Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales...
Сторінка 228 - The poetry of earth is ceasing never : • On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.