The English Poets, Том 4Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1894 |
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Сторінка 20
... gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , Their colours and their forms , were then to me An ...
... gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , Their colours and their forms , were then to me An ...
Сторінка 33
... gone , My life has been approved , And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved . ' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs , The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains ; And , Matthew , for thy ...
... gone , My life has been approved , And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved . ' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs , The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains ; And , Matthew , for thy ...
Сторінка 46
... gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone , And showed my youth How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth . Alas ! where'er the current tends , Regret pursues and with it blends , - Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends By ...
... gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone , And showed my youth How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth . Alas ! where'er the current tends , Regret pursues and with it blends , - Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends By ...
Сторінка 56
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Сторінка 62
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , -yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon ; and blest a sad abode ...
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , -yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon ; and blest a sad abode ...
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ballads beauty beneath blank verse breast breath bright Byron Camelot charm cloud DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth Emily Brontë English Excalibur eyes face fair fame fear feel flowers friends gaze Goethe grace grave green hand happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill hour human Iacchus Keats King Arthur Lady Lady of Shalott light live lonely look Love's lyric Matthew Arnold mind moon morn mountains nature never night o'er once Oxus passion poems poet poetic poetry rose round Rustum Samian wine Seistan shadow Shalott shore silent sing Sir Bedivere sleep smile song sonnet sorrow soul spirit stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro trees verse voice wandering waves weary wild wind Wordsworth youth
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 19 - Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
Сторінка 284 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Сторінка 375 - WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With...
Сторінка 324 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Сторінка 285 - Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, — Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee;...
Сторінка 83 - Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Сторінка 324 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Сторінка 376 - Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them!
Сторінка 260 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Сторінка 740 - Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.