PoemsGinn & Company, 1896 - 302 стор. |
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Сторінка 7
... hours ; No voice , no lute , no pipe , no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming ; No shrine , no grove , no oracle , no heat 35 Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming . O brightest though too late for antique vows , Too , too late ...
... hours ; No voice , no lute , no pipe , no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming ; No shrine , no grove , no oracle , no heat 35 Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming . O brightest though too late for antique vows , Too , too late ...
Сторінка 9
... hours by hours . 3 . 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 ...
... hours by hours . 3 . 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 ...
Сторінка 16
... hours are old and gray , And their minutes buried all Under the down - trodden pall Of the leaves of many years : Many times have winter's shears , Frozen North , and chilling East , Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's ...
... hours are old and gray , And their minutes buried all Under the down - trodden pall Of the leaves of many years : Many times have winter's shears , Frozen North , and chilling East , Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's ...
Сторінка 43
... hour . What though I am not wealthy in the dower Of spanning wisdom ; though I do not know The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughts 285 Of man though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out ...
... hour . What though I am not wealthy in the dower Of spanning wisdom ; though I do not know The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughts 285 Of man though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out ...
Сторінка 50
... hour ; The blissful cloud of summer - indolence Benumb'd my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ; Pain had no sting , and pleasure's wreath no flower : O , why did ye not melt , and leave me sense Unhaunted quite of all but nothingness ...
... hour ; The blissful cloud of summer - indolence Benumb'd my eyes ; my pulse grew less and less ; Pain had no sting , and pleasure's wreath no flower : O , why did ye not melt , and leave me sense Unhaunted quite of all but nothingness ...
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९९ adieu Æschylus Bacchus beauty behold beneath bliss bower breath bright Carian Charles Cowden Clarke clouds cold Corinth dark death deep delight dost doth dream ears earth Enceladus Endymion eyes Faerie Queene faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle gloom goddess golden green grief hair hand happy heart heaven Hyperion immortal John Keats Keats Keats's kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lone lute Lycius lyre melody morning mortal Naiad never night nymph o'er Ode to Psyche pain pale pass'd passion pleasant poem poet poetry rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sonnet sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling vex'd voice weep whisper wide wild wind wings wonder young youth ΙΟ
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Сторінка 5 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Сторінка 55 - And there she lulled me asleep And there I dream'd — Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side. 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 3 - 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...
Сторінка 5 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 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!
Сторінка 2 - 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 Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays...
Сторінка 272 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Сторінка 276 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV 'Ah, Porphyro!
Сторінка 4 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Сторінка 2 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Сторінка 10 - But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies...