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" But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 1 cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs... "
The Edinburgh magazine, and literary miscellany, a new series of The Scots ... - Сторінка 315
1820
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Love Disconsoled: Meditations on Christian Charity

Timothy P. Jackson, Timothy Patrick Jackson - 1999 - 254 стор.
...epigraph to Tender from "Ode to a Nightingale": Already with thee! tender is the night . . . . . . But here there is no light, Save what from heaven...blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. Like Keats, Fitzgerald and his fictional creations are aware of the lure of nonentity but do not merely...
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Hazlitt: The Mind of a Critic

David Bromwich - 1999 - 456 стор.
...as he enters it Keats's impression is that he is dazed, and for the first time must move slowly. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket,...
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The Masks of Keats: The Endeavour of a Poet

Thomas McFarland, Murray Professor of English Literature Emeritus Thomas McFarland - 2000 - 244 стор.
...(Keats, Poems, 62: To Charles Cowden Clarke', line 79). Again, in his poem to his brother George I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket,...
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The Cambridge Companion to Keats

Susan J. Wolfson, Wolfson Susan J. - 2001 - 272 стор.
...of Nature. From a speech later in the same scene there grew a piece of profound verdure in Keats: I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket,...
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The Discovery of Poetry: A Field Guide to Reading and Writing Poems

Frances Mayes - 2001 - 494 стор.
...scent of flowers 378 / THE DISCOVERY OF POETRY hushed, cool rooted flowers, fragrant eyed But here is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown . . . the small warm rain Melts out the frozen incense from all flowers Music's golden tongue the silver...
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The Earliest Wordsworth: Poems, 1785-1790

William Wordsworth - 2002 - 141 стор.
...like the nightingale in Milton's Eden 'Sings darkling'. Other literary nightingales come to mind: 'I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, / Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs'. Keats' poem was three decades in the future, but in both cases the denial of one sense stimulates others,...
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Dictionary of Literature in English

Neil King, Sarah King - 2002 - 189 стор.
...and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth... and later in the poem he describes sight in terms of touch: But here there is no light. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown... In Spenders "Seascape" (1946) he writes of the sea as "burning music for the eyes." syncope: the reduction...
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Formationer i europæisk romantik

Marie-Louise Svane - 2003 - 286 стор.
...the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays; ßnf there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the...blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways, (v. 3 6-40, min kursivering) Mânedronningen (som Keats digtede om i Endymion og i »I stood tiptoe«)...
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A Companion to the Works of Heinrich Von Kleist

Bernd Fischer - 2003 - 258 стор.
...This richness of sensory experience reminds us of Keats's almost swooning anticipation of death: "I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, / Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, / But in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet / Wherewith the seasonable month endows / The grass, the...
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Configuring Romanticism: Essays Offered to C.C. Barfoot

Theo d'. Haen, Theo d' Haen, P. Th. M. G. Liebregts, Wim Tigges - 2003 - 306 стор.
...endeavour" (11. 5-14). and here the night of May described in Stanza V of Keats's ode becomes relevant: I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket,...
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