Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Том 31855 |
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Сторінка 153
... THOMAS . A Valentine ... 454 CHADWICK , SHELDON . The Little Winter Grave 445 CHAPMAN . Pride of Ancestry A True Women 195 196 CHATTERTON . Morning www 389 APA 241 CHURCHILL . Horses Toiling up Hill CLARE , JOHN . INNDENC 2 .
... THOMAS . A Valentine ... 454 CHADWICK , SHELDON . The Little Winter Grave 445 CHAPMAN . Pride of Ancestry A True Women 195 196 CHATTERTON . Morning www 389 APA 241 CHURCHILL . Horses Toiling up Hill CLARE , JOHN . INNDENC 2 .
Сторінка 154
Beautiful poetry. CHURCHILL . Horses Toiling up Hill CLARE , JOHN . November ... CLARK , WILLIS G. ... page 364 ... Lines Written at an Unknown Grave COLERIDGE , SAMUEL TAYLOR . Sonnet To an Infant To the Nautilus Foreshadowings Youth ...
Beautiful poetry. CHURCHILL . Horses Toiling up Hill CLARE , JOHN . November ... CLARK , WILLIS G. ... page 364 ... Lines Written at an Unknown Grave COLERIDGE , SAMUEL TAYLOR . Sonnet To an Infant To the Nautilus Foreshadowings Youth ...
Сторінка 171
... hills is loud- And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud . On thy unaltering blaze The half - wreck'd mariner , his compass lost , Fixes his steady gaze , And steers , undoubting , to the friendly coast ; And they who stray ...
... hills is loud- And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud . On thy unaltering blaze The half - wreck'd mariner , his compass lost , Fixes his steady gaze , And steers , undoubting , to the friendly coast ; And they who stray ...
Сторінка 172
... we lost them in the hills ; While herself and other ladies , and her suitors left beside her , Went a - wandering up the gardens , through the laurels and abeles . Thus , her foot upon the new - mown grass 172 BEAUTIFUL POETRY .
... we lost them in the hills ; While herself and other ladies , and her suitors left beside her , Went a - wandering up the gardens , through the laurels and abeles . Thus , her foot upon the new - mown grass 172 BEAUTIFUL POETRY .
Сторінка 183
... hill ; The pleasures that were dear to him Are dear to life and nature still : But , ah ! his home is not as fair ; Neglected must his gardens be The lilies droop and wither there , And seem to whisper , " Where is he ? " His was the ...
... hill ; The pleasures that were dear to him Are dear to life and nature still : But , ah ! his home is not as fair ; Neglected must his gardens be The lilies droop and wither there , And seem to whisper , " Where is he ? " His was the ...
Загальні терміни та фрази
Advertisements BARRY CORNWALL BEAUTIFUL POETRY beneath bird blue breast breath bright brow cheek Choice Passages Clerical Journal cloth cloud cold Consisting of Choice creeping everywhere dark death deep doth dream earth EBENEZER ELLIOTT Edited by H. G. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ESSEX STREET eyes fair flowers Fontenoy gaze golden grave green H. G. ADAMS hath hear heard heart heaven hills Holy Orders hour JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL JOHN CROCKFORD Lady leaves light London Literary Journal lonely look moon morning N. P. WILLIS never night numbers o'er pale Philaster poem poet price 3d rose round S. T. COLERIDGE SACRED SACRED POETS shade shadow sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit spring stars Strand stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees United Kingdom University Chronicle voice waves weary wild WILLIAM ALLINGHAM wind
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Сторінка 200 - I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
Сторінка 198 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Сторінка 189 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries...
Сторінка 215 - Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you ; But you never may behold Little John or Robin bold ; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair Hostess Merriment Down beside the pasture Trent, For he left the merry tale Messenger for spicy ale.
Сторінка 208 - THE sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the" landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore, Though evening with her richest dye Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree...
Сторінка 194 - Morea's hills the setting sun; not as in northern climes obscurely bright, but one unclouded blaze of living light : o'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows. On old jEgina's rock and Idra's isle the god of gladness sheds his parting smile; o'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, though there his altars are no more divine.
Сторінка 198 - None like her, none. Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk, And shook my heart to think she comes once more But even then I "heard her close the door, The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.
Сторінка 221 - Call for the robin redbreast, and the -wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Сторінка 200 - I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river...
Сторінка 194 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!