The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.1837 |
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Сторінка vii
... summer , the sur- passing glory and variety of autumn , and even the snow and hoarfrost of winter , each sits so well upon them , that , delighted with the present impression , we think no other vesture would become them so well . The ...
... summer , the sur- passing glory and variety of autumn , and even the snow and hoarfrost of winter , each sits so well upon them , that , delighted with the present impression , we think no other vesture would become them so well . The ...
Сторінка xv
... Summer's shower and sunshine woo'd In " leafy luxury ” ye stand array'd ; Nor less when mournful Autumn has imbued With her own sadness bower and forest glade , Or when ' neath Winter's blight your latest glories fade . I love ye when ...
... Summer's shower and sunshine woo'd In " leafy luxury ” ye stand array'd ; Nor less when mournful Autumn has imbued With her own sadness bower and forest glade , Or when ' neath Winter's blight your latest glories fade . I love ye when ...
Сторінка 6
... Can link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
... Can link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
Сторінка 7
... summer's glow , But more to feel the wintry winds Sweep by in awful mirth , For well thou know'st each blast will fix Thy roots more deep in earth . Would that to me life's changes Did thus with blessings come ! That mercies might ...
... summer's glow , But more to feel the wintry winds Sweep by in awful mirth , For well thou know'st each blast will fix Thy roots more deep in earth . Would that to me life's changes Did thus with blessings come ! That mercies might ...
Сторінка 16
... summer's burning hour ! Ah ! why , perfidious , do ye now forsake Your pebbly beds ? -ye , who did tempt the flower , With promise bland , to ope its golden eye Upon your shelving marge , and leave it thus to die ! From you , ye false ...
... summer's burning hour ! Ah ! why , perfidious , do ye now forsake Your pebbly beds ? -ye , who did tempt the flower , With promise bland , to ope its golden eye Upon your shelving marge , and leave it thus to die ! From you , ye false ...
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The Spirit of the Woods, by the Author of 'The Moral of Flowers' Rebecca Hey Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
adorn alder alluded amongst ancient Arbutus autumn banyan beauty beech beneath berries birch birks of Aberfeldy bloom blossoms boughs bower branches breath bright brow cedar cherry clusters crown cultivated cypress dark doth earth Evelyn evergreens fair fair brow fancy feel flowers foliage forest fragrance fruit garden genus Gilpin gives gloom glory glow graceful green ground grove grows growth hath hawthorn hazel heart heaven height holly honour LAURUS NOBILIS leaf leaves misletoe Mount Ida mountain mountain ash myrtle native nature Norway spruce o'er olive paliurus palm peace pine plant poet pyracantha rock rose sacred says scene scenery seem'd shade Shakspeare shrubs smile soil solemn song species spell spring summer sweet sylvan tears temple thee Thomas Dick Lauder thorns thou timber tint tree vine Virgil weeping whilst wild wild cherry willow wood yield
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 95 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Сторінка 151 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Сторінка 92 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Сторінка 14 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Сторінка 271 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Сторінка 183 - The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between...
Сторінка 2 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Сторінка 121 - It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps...
Сторінка 173 - Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, In Desolation unrepining, Without a hope on earth to find A mirror in an answering mind, Meek souls there are, who little dream Their daily strife an Angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
Сторінка 258 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...