Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Сторінка 48
... turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder , My crown , mine own ambition , and my queen . May one be pardon'd , and retain the offence ? In the corrupted ...
... turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder , My crown , mine own ambition , and my queen . May one be pardon'd , and retain the offence ? In the corrupted ...
Сторінка 58
... , And wanton mountains dance about the lands , The while the fields , struck with the heav'nly light , Set all their flow'rs a - smiling at the sight 58 SELECT POETRY . Times go by turns Scorn not the least 19 The Ascension.
... , And wanton mountains dance about the lands , The while the fields , struck with the heav'nly light , Set all their flow'rs a - smiling at the sight 58 SELECT POETRY . Times go by turns Scorn not the least 19 The Ascension.
Сторінка 64
... Turn'd her to marble ! ' Tis enough , my wench : Show me the piece of needlework you wrought . Antiph . Of Ariadne , madam ? Asp . Yes , that piece . Fie , you have miss'd it here , Antiphila . You're much mistaken , wench ; - These ...
... Turn'd her to marble ! ' Tis enough , my wench : Show me the piece of needlework you wrought . Antiph . Of Ariadne , madam ? Asp . Yes , that piece . Fie , you have miss'd it here , Antiphila . You're much mistaken , wench ; - These ...
Сторінка 65
... turn'd His tender eyes upon ' em , he would weep As if he meant to make them grow again . Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face , I ask'd him all his story . He told me that his parents gentle died , Leaving him to the ...
... turn'd His tender eyes upon ' em , he would weep As if he meant to make them grow again . Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face , I ask'd him all his story . He told me that his parents gentle died , Leaving him to the ...
Сторінка 66
... turns to coal , Then chiefly lives . MATIN HYMN . I cannot ope mine eyes But thou art ready there to catch My morning soul and sacrifice , Then we must needs for that day make a match . My God , what is a heart ? Silver , or gold , or ...
... turns to coal , Then chiefly lives . MATIN HYMN . I cannot ope mine eyes But thou art ready there to catch My morning soul and sacrifice , Then we must needs for that day make a match . My God , what is a heart ? Silver , or gold , or ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed by a de Vere Aubrey De Vere Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2012 |
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beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds born A.D. bosom breast breath bright Castara Chaucer clouds customed hill dark dead dear death deep delight died A.D. dost doth dream dull earth dwelling earth English poetry eyes fair fame fancy flowers genius GILES FLETCHER glory Gondibert grace grave green happy hast hath hear heart heaven hills honour hour Idlesse king light living looks Lord Lord Byron lyre morning mortal nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er PHILIP MASSINGER pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rills rise rocks rose round Samian wine shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet sweet oblivion tears Tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought trees unto vale vex'd virgin voice wave wind wings woods wouldst youth
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Сторінка 253 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Сторінка 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Сторінка 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Сторінка 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Сторінка 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Сторінка 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Сторінка 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Сторінка 149 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Сторінка 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Сторінка 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.