Select Pieces from the Poems of William WordsworthJ. Burns, 1843 - 233 стор. |
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... dear to those whose thoughts he has moulded , but which would be , at the best , a dead letter to any who have never yet been influenced by him , and who , if presented with such of his writings , would most probably be repelled from ...
... dear to those whose thoughts he has moulded , but which would be , at the best , a dead letter to any who have never yet been influenced by him , and who , if presented with such of his writings , would most probably be repelled from ...
Сторінка 10
... if I For once could have thee close to me , With happy heart I then would die , And my last thought would happy be ; But thou , dear babe , art far away , Nor shall I see another day . Gle Pet Lamb THE dew was falling fast , the.
... if I For once could have thee close to me , With happy heart I then would die , And my last thought would happy be ; But thou , dear babe , art far away , Nor shall I see another day . Gle Pet Lamb THE dew was falling fast , the.
Сторінка 21
... bloody deeds his thoughts are far ; And yet he warbles songs of war , That seem like songs of love , For calm and gentle is his mien , - Like a dead boy , he is serene . On Leaving School . DEAR native regions , I foretell. 21.
... bloody deeds his thoughts are far ; And yet he warbles songs of war , That seem like songs of love , For calm and gentle is his mien , - Like a dead boy , he is serene . On Leaving School . DEAR native regions , I foretell. 21.
Сторінка 22
... rest , Though his departing radiance fail To illuminate the hollow vale , A lingering lustre fondly throws On the dear mountain top where first he rose . 22 Repentance . THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold-. ON LEAVING SCHOOL.
... rest , Though his departing radiance fail To illuminate the hollow vale , A lingering lustre fondly throws On the dear mountain top where first he rose . 22 Repentance . THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold-. ON LEAVING SCHOOL.
Сторінка 31
... dear to future men Than in old time ; thou not in vain Art Nature's favourite . To the same Flower . WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be , Yet once again I talk to thee , For thou art worthy , - Thou ...
... dear to future men Than in old time ; thou not in vain Art Nature's favourite . To the same Flower . WITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be , Yet once again I talk to thee , For thou art worthy , - Thou ...
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art thou bagpipe behold beneath bird blessed blest blind bower breath bright brother Brougham Castle cheerful child choice or chance churchyard clouds cottage dead dear deep delight door earth earth abide EGREMONT CASTLE Ennerdale eyes fair father fear fields flowers glad gone grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour Isabel land Laodamia LEONARD light lived lofty look Luke mind morning mother mountain mourn mournfully murmur never night o'er pain passed peace pleasant pleasure poor PRIEST Rich groves Richard Bateman rills rocks round Ruth seemed SEVEN SISTERS shepherd side sight silent sing sleep solitude song sorrow soul sound spirit stone stood sweet thee There's things thou art thought TINTERN ABBEY trees Twas Twill vale voice wander waters weary ween wild wind woods Yarrow youth
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Сторінка 4 - A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Сторінка 5 - Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?' 'How many? Seven in all,' she said, And wondering looked at me. 'And where are they? I pray you tell.
Сторінка 43 - Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; 0 listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands : A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings...
Сторінка 168 - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: — But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
Сторінка 25 - Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...
Сторінка 164 - And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchance, If I should be, where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together ; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came, Unwearied in that service : rather say With warmer love, oh ! with far deeper zeal Of holier love.
Сторінка 93 - THERE was a roaring in the wind all night ; The rain came heavily and fell in floods ; But now the sun is rising calm and bright ; The birds are singing in the distant woods...
Сторінка 147 - tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.
Сторінка 159 - Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ,, And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration...
Сторінка 27 - ... Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that...