Poets in the PulpitSampson, Law, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1880 - 291 стор. |
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Сторінка 20
... mind are , not the meditations on death , but the practical grappling with the affairs of every - day life , the trumpet calls to duty , the oft declared need for patience , perseverance , and tireless endeavour . There is a practical ...
... mind are , not the meditations on death , but the practical grappling with the affairs of every - day life , the trumpet calls to duty , the oft declared need for patience , perseverance , and tireless endeavour . There is a practical ...
Сторінка 37
... mind , I note in him the primal qualities common to all true poets . Let us define Poetry . ' Poetry , " says John Stuart Mill , " is the expression of thought coloured by emotion or feeling , expressed in metrical language , and ...
... mind , I note in him the primal qualities common to all true poets . Let us define Poetry . ' Poetry , " says John Stuart Mill , " is the expression of thought coloured by emotion or feeling , expressed in metrical language , and ...
Сторінка 38
... sensibility is both active and passive . When the poet's mind is intensely and actively possessed , he is able to impress all things with his mood - he imposes his own emotional atmosphere on his 38 Poets in the Pulpit .
... sensibility is both active and passive . When the poet's mind is intensely and actively possessed , he is able to impress all things with his mood - he imposes his own emotional atmosphere on his 38 Poets in the Pulpit .
Сторінка 39
... mind , ready to receive and register impressions . He is the great High Priest of nature . He is here to interpret her mandates , to overhear her secret whispers long before he him- self is overheard of men . His heart beats in time ...
... mind , ready to receive and register impressions . He is the great High Priest of nature . He is here to interpret her mandates , to overhear her secret whispers long before he him- self is overheard of men . His heart beats in time ...
Сторінка 40
... mind , and the mind in its turn is roused into an atmospheric excitement , which at last completely reacts upon , and impresses with its own stamp , the pathetic symbol of French defeat and English victory . Tennyson has in a high ...
... mind , and the mind in its turn is roused into an atmospheric excitement , which at last completely reacts upon , and impresses with its own stamp , the pathetic symbol of French defeat and English victory . Tennyson has in a high ...
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Сторінка 248 - Earth has not anything to show more fair ! Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples, lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Сторінка 21 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Сторінка 18 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Сторінка 274 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
Сторінка 16 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Сторінка 275 - There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Сторінка 237 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ; The bridal of the earth and sky : The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Сторінка 269 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Сторінка 267 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Сторінка 251 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.