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Сторінка 12 - St Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold...
Сторінка 42 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Сторінка 218 - The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket arose from the well How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it. Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips; And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell.
Сторінка 13 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Сторінка 42 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Сторінка 42 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, > Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Сторінка 43 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Сторінка 268 - Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had .not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Сторінка 43 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; 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!
Сторінка 222 - And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God.