The British Poets, Том 3

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Little, Brown & Company, 1866

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Сторінка 340 - In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run; an embodied * joy whose race is just begun. IV. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad day-light Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
Сторінка 344 - XXI. Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. TO I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine
Сторінка 339 - And the winds and sunbeams with their convex Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, [the tomb, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from I arise and unbuild it again.
Сторінка 343 - XVII. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter
Сторінка 339 - earth and water, And the nursling of the sky: I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, [gleams, And the winds and
Сторінка 340 - joy whose race is just begun. IV. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad day-light Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
Сторінка 365 - There grew pied wind-flowers and violets; Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth ; The constellated flower that never sets ; Faint oxlips ; tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, "When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And
Сторінка 343 - What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain! XVI. With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. XVII. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream
Сторінка 344 - TO I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine ; I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine: Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine. ODE TO LIBERTY. Yet freedom, yet, thy banner torn but flying, Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.
Сторінка 72 - glittering—now reflecting gloom— Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters,—with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap forever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

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