Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Том 31855 |
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Сторінка 152
... Rose from Mrs. Browning's Deserted Garden The Mourning Mother of the Dead Blind BROWNING , ROBERT . A Serenade at the Villa BRYANT , W. C. The Hunter's Vision To a Waterfowl ... The Death of the Flowers A Song of Pitcairn's Island Hymn ...
... Rose from Mrs. Browning's Deserted Garden The Mourning Mother of the Dead Blind BROWNING , ROBERT . A Serenade at the Villa BRYANT , W. C. The Hunter's Vision To a Waterfowl ... The Death of the Flowers A Song of Pitcairn's Island Hymn ...
Сторінка 159
... ... 514 LOVELACE , The Grasshopper ... 153 LOWELL , JAMES RUSSELL . The Birch Tree 260 ... Frost Work A City Scene The Rose LYLY . ... Cupid and Campaspe 310 321 367 ... ... 447 ... page 148 ... 273 ... 393 410 : O INDEX .
... ... 514 LOVELACE , The Grasshopper ... 153 LOWELL , JAMES RUSSELL . The Birch Tree 260 ... Frost Work A City Scene The Rose LYLY . ... Cupid and Campaspe 310 321 367 ... ... 447 ... page 148 ... 273 ... 393 410 : O INDEX .
Сторінка 190
... rose tint that health had painted there . And then , in all my thoughtfulness , I could not but rejoice , To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice , - Now echoing in the rapturous laugh , now sad almost to tears ; ' Twas ...
... rose tint that health had painted there . And then , in all my thoughtfulness , I could not but rejoice , To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice , - Now echoing in the rapturous laugh , now sad almost to tears ; ' Twas ...
Сторінка 208
... rose ; The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose . THE LAST WISH . The celebrated WILSON , the ornithologist , requested that he might be buried near some sunny spot where the birds he loved so in his life might come and ...
... rose ; The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose . THE LAST WISH . The celebrated WILSON , the ornithologist , requested that he might be buried near some sunny spot where the birds he loved so in his life might come and ...
Сторінка 209
... rose , The snowdrop , and the violet , lend perfume Above the spot where , in my grassy tomb , I take repose . Year after year , Within the silver birch tree o'er me hung The chirping wren shall rear her callow young , Shall build her ...
... rose , The snowdrop , and the violet , lend perfume Above the spot where , in my grassy tomb , I take repose . Year after year , Within the silver birch tree o'er me hung The chirping wren shall rear her callow young , Shall build her ...
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!