Favourite English poems and poets1870 - 672 стор. |
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Сторінка 5
... true poet ; besides , he is free from the perpetual tendency to caricature , which that author possesses . In reading Chaucer , there comes as vividly before the mental eye as Mr. Wackford Squeers , and John Browdie , in " Nicholas ...
... true poet ; besides , he is free from the perpetual tendency to caricature , which that author possesses . In reading Chaucer , there comes as vividly before the mental eye as Mr. Wackford Squeers , and John Browdie , in " Nicholas ...
Сторінка 7
... true , so real are they . All students of English literature will do well to supplement history with Chaucer . Moreover , he is unquestionably a first - class poet ; and lastly , he is of rare service to the students of language , who ...
... true , so real are they . All students of English literature will do well to supplement history with Chaucer . Moreover , he is unquestionably a first - class poet ; and lastly , he is of rare service to the students of language , who ...
Сторінка 13
... feathers as the peacock shone ; This was her song , and of a sentence true , All love is lost but upon God alone . With notis glad , and glorious harmony , This joyful 13 WILLIAM DUNBAR -1460-1530 The Merle and the Nightingale.
... feathers as the peacock shone ; This was her song , and of a sentence true , All love is lost but upon God alone . With notis glad , and glorious harmony , This joyful 13 WILLIAM DUNBAR -1460-1530 The Merle and the Nightingale.
Сторінка 15
... true love or none ? He is most true and stedfast paramour , And love is lost but upon him alone . The Merle said , Why put God so great beauty In ladies , with sic womanly having , But gif he would that they suld lovit be ? To love eke ...
... true love or none ? He is most true and stedfast paramour , And love is lost but upon him alone . The Merle said , Why put God so great beauty In ladies , with sic womanly having , But gif he would that they suld lovit be ? To love eke ...
Сторінка 16
... True is the contrary ; Sic frustis love it blindis men so far , Into their minds it makis them to vary ; In false vain glory they so drunken are , Their wit is went , of woe they are not waur , While that all worship away be fro ' them ...
... True is the contrary ; Sic frustis love it blindis men so far , Into their minds it makis them to vary ; In false vain glory they so drunken are , Their wit is went , of woe they are not waur , While that all worship away be fro ' them ...
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beauty birds BIRKET FOSTER born breast breath bright C. W. COPE CRESWICK dead dear death delight died doth dread E. H. WEHNERT E. M. WIMPERIS Earl earth eyes Faerie Queene fair fame favourite fear flowers gentle GEORGE THOMAS GILES FLETCHER give glory grace grave green grief groves GUSTAVE DORÉ happy HARRISON WEIR hast hath hear heart heaven honour Hudibras John Barleycorn JOHN GILBERT JOSHUA SYLVESTER King lady leave live Lochaber Lord Lute Lycidas merry mind morn ne'er never night Nightingale numbers nymph o'er Oxford pain Piers Ploughman pleasure poem poet praise pride queen rise rose round run softly sche seem'd shade shepherd sigh sing sleep smile sorrow soul sound spring swain Sweet Thames tears Tell thee thine thou art thought trembling Twas unto voice waves Westminster Abbey wild wind youth
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Сторінка 318 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
Сторінка 307 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:' THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Сторінка 304 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Сторінка 582 - And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ?" The Vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." " And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so,
Сторінка 70 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
Сторінка 419 - 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 301 - Await alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Сторінка 299 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Сторінка 494 - Are those her ribs through which the Sun, Did peer, as through a grate ? And is that Woman all her crew ? Is that a DEATH ? and are there two ? Is DEATH that woman's mate ? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice ; " The game is done ! I've won ! I've won ! " Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
Сторінка 552 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by ;...