Select Pieces from the Poems of William WordsworthJ. Burns, 1843 - 233 стор. |
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Сторінка 1
... - The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door . You yet may spy the fawn at play , The hare upon the green ; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen . B " To - night will be a stormy night ;. LUCY GRAY ' PAGE.
... - The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door . You yet may spy the fawn at play , The hare upon the green ; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen . B " To - night will be a stormy night ;. LUCY GRAY ' PAGE.
Сторінка 12
... face : If Nature to her tongue could measur'd numbers bring , Thus , thought I , to her lamb that little maid might sing : " What ails thee , young one ? what ? why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and ...
... face : If Nature to her tongue could measur'd numbers bring , Thus , thought I , to her lamb that little maid might sing : " What ails thee , young one ? what ? why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and ...
Сторінка 20
... as the bloom upon his face . A harp is from his shoulder slung ; Resting the harp upon his knee , To words of a forgotten tongue He suits its melody . 20 Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill He is the darling THE DANISH BOY •
... as the bloom upon his face . A harp is from his shoulder slung ; Resting the harp upon his knee , To words of a forgotten tongue He suits its melody . 20 Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill He is the darling THE DANISH BOY •
Сторінка 21
... face you spy No trace of a ferocious air ; Nor ever was a cloudless sky So steady or so fair . The lovely Danish boy is blest , And happy in his flowery cove : From bloody deeds his thoughts are far ; And yet he warbles songs of war ...
... face you spy No trace of a ferocious air ; Nor ever was a cloudless sky So steady or so fair . The lovely Danish boy is blest , And happy in his flowery cove : From bloody deeds his thoughts are far ; And yet he warbles songs of war ...
Сторінка 23
... summer's day , Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree , A stern face it puts on , as if ready to say , " What ails you , that you must come creeping to me ! " With our pastures about us we could not be sad 23 REPENTANCE.
... summer's day , Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree , A stern face it puts on , as if ready to say , " What ails you , that you must come creeping to me ! " With our pastures about us we could not be sad 23 REPENTANCE.
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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...