Six Centuries of English Poetry: Tennyson to Chaucer : Typical Selections from the Great PoetsSilver, Burdett, 1892 - 308 стор. |
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Сторінка 135
... Dryden's " Alexander's Feast , " Keats's " Ode to a Nightingale , " and Wordsworth's " Ode on the Intimations of Immortality , " all of which are odes in form and style , although differing from their Greek prototype and from one ...
... Dryden's " Alexander's Feast , " Keats's " Ode to a Nightingale , " and Wordsworth's " Ode on the Intimations of Immortality , " all of which are odes in form and style , although differing from their Greek prototype and from one ...
Сторінка 144
... Dryden now . Avoid extremes ; and shun the fault of such , Who still are pleas'd too little or too much . At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence , That always shows great pride , or little sense : Those heads , as stomachs , are not sure ...
... Dryden now . Avoid extremes ; and shun the fault of such , Who still are pleas'd too little or too much . At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence , That always shows great pride , or little sense : Those heads , as stomachs , are not sure ...
Сторінка 147
... Dryden called Denham " That limping old bard Whose fame on ' The Sophy ' and ' Cooper's Hill ' stands . " 17. numbers . Poetical metre . " As yet a child nor yet a fool to fame , I lisped in numbers , for the numbers came . " " ― - Pope ...
... Dryden called Denham " That limping old bard Whose fame on ' The Sophy ' and ' Cooper's Hill ' stands . " 17. numbers . Poetical metre . " As yet a child nor yet a fool to fame , I lisped in numbers , for the numbers came . " " ― - Pope ...
Сторінка 152
... Dryden , for he has far outgone other competitors . Dryden's plan is better chosen ; history will always take stronger hold of the passions than fable : the passions excited by Dryden are the pleasures and pains of real life ; the scene ...
... Dryden , for he has far outgone other competitors . Dryden's plan is better chosen ; history will always take stronger hold of the passions than fable : the passions excited by Dryden are the pleasures and pains of real life ; the scene ...
Сторінка 153
... Dryden calls her " inventress of the vocal frame " ( see page 164 ) . The origin of this musical instrument is not known , but the first organs used in Italy are said to have been brought thither from Greece . Some of the Roman churches ...
... Dryden calls her " inventress of the vocal frame " ( see page 164 ) . The origin of this musical instrument is not known , but the first organs used in Italy are said to have been brought thither from Greece . Some of the Roman churches ...
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Six Centuries of English Poetry: Tennyson to Chaucer James Baldwin Обмежений попередній перегляд - 2020 |
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Æneid ancient ballads bard beauty Ben Jonson biographical note born bright Burns called century Chaucer Christabel Cowper death doth Dryden earth end my song English poetry English Poets Essay eyes Faerie Queene fair fame Feast fire flowers gold Gray Greek happy hast hath hear heart heaven honor Hood John John Dryden JOHN LYDGATE King lady Lady of Shalott literature living London Lord loud Lycidas lyric Milton morning Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er Oliver Goldsmith Paradise Lost poetical poetry Pope praise rhyme ROBERT HENRYSON Robin Robin Hood rose runne softly says sche Shakespeare Shelley short poems sigh sing Sir Patrick Spens sleep soft Sonnets soul sound Spenser stanza stars Stopford Brooke suld Sweet Themmes thee thine thou thought Timotheus unto verse versification wild wind word write
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Сторінка 70 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Сторінка 41 - And unto this he frames his song : Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part ; Filling from time to time his
Сторінка 85 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy 1 Still would'st thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Сторінка 51 - THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Сторінка 131 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Сторінка 37 - There was a time when meadow, grove and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Сторінка 69 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 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.
Сторінка 126 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault.
Сторінка 41 - What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest — Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood...
Сторінка 44 - The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.