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admiration amid appeared beauty become better breath Byron called character clear close Coleridge comes critics daring dark death deep describes dream earth effect eloquent equal eternal expression face feeling figure fire flowers genius give hand head heart heaven hope human imagination interest Italy language leaves less light lines living look lost mean Milton mind moral mountains nature never night object once original pass passion perhaps picture play poem poet poetical poetry produced rising round scene seems seen sense shadow Shakspere Shelley shining sometimes song soul sound speak spirit stand stars story strong style sublime sweet tears things thou thought tion true truth turn verse voice whole wild wind writings written young
Сторінка 137 - Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
Сторінка 252 - And there shall be signs in the sun and in the moon and in the stars, and upon the earth distress of nations with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring, men's hearts failing them for fear and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth ; for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
Сторінка 226 - Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho...
Сторінка 32 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Сторінка 45 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Сторінка 27 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Сторінка 220 - Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say " Peace !" Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
Сторінка 137 - THE Lord descended from above, And bowed the heavens most high; And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. 2 On cherub and on cherubim, Full royally, he rode ; And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad.
Сторінка 125 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day...
Сторінка 159 - THE skies they were ashen and sober, The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir — It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.