The Poetical Works of John KeatsW. Scott, 1885 - 310 стор. |
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Сторінка 23
... strange physical excite- ment - it might have appeared to those who did not know him , one of fierce intoxication . He told his friend he had been outside the stage - coach , had received a severe chill , was a little fevered , but ...
... strange physical excite- ment - it might have appeared to those who did not know him , one of fierce intoxication . He told his friend he had been outside the stage - coach , had received a severe chill , was a little fevered , but ...
Сторінка 49
... strange , more beautiful , more smooth , more Than wings of swans , than doves , than dim - seen eagle ? What is it ? And to what shall I compare it ? It has a glory , and naught else can share it : The thought thereof is awful , sweet ...
... strange , more beautiful , more smooth , more Than wings of swans , than doves , than dim - seen eagle ? What is it ? And to what shall I compare it ? It has a glory , and naught else can share it : The thought thereof is awful , sweet ...
Сторінка 50
... strange influence , That we must ever wonder how and whence It came . Also imaginings will hover Round my fireside , and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty , where I'd wander In happy silence , like the clear meander Through ...
... strange influence , That we must ever wonder how and whence It came . Also imaginings will hover Round my fireside , and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty , where I'd wander In happy silence , like the clear meander Through ...
Сторінка 53
... strange Journey it went . Is there so small a range In the present strength of manhood , that the high Imagination cannot freely fly As she was wont of old ? prepare her steeds , Paw up against the light , and do strange deeds Upon the ...
... strange Journey it went . Is there so small a range In the present strength of manhood , that the high Imagination cannot freely fly As she was wont of old ? prepare her steeds , Paw up against the light , and do strange deeds Upon the ...
Сторінка 55
... Strange thunders from the potency of song ; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong , From majesty : but in clear truth the themes Are ugly cubs , the Poet's Polyphemes Disturbing the grand sea . A drainless shower Of light SLEEP ...
... Strange thunders from the potency of song ; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong , From majesty : but in clear truth the themes Are ugly cubs , the Poet's Polyphemes Disturbing the grand sea . A drainless shower Of light SLEEP ...
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Apollo Arethusa Art thou Bacchus beauty behold bliss bosom bower breast breath bright Carian charm chidden clouds cold cool dark dead death deep delight dewy dost doth dream ears earth Elysium Endymion eyes face faint fair Fanny Brawne fear feel flowers forest gentle golden gone green grief hair hand happy heard heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lone look lute Lycius lyre Mermaid Tavern moon morning mortal mossy Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale passed passion pleasant poet Porphyro rill ringdove rose round Saturn Satyrs Scylla shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whisper wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Сторінка 271 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness!* Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme...
Сторінка 269 - 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 271 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; 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 268 - 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 270 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmed darkness guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
Сторінка 223 - And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, — I've mickle time to grieve.
Сторінка 269 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Сторінка 61 - 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...
Сторінка 229 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake ! "Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: " Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, "Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Сторінка 280 - Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...