A Poetry Book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics, Selected and Arranged, with Notes, from the Works of the Modern English and American Poets, Dating from the Middle of the Eighteenth Century to the Present TimeB. Tauchnitz, 1878 - 334 страници |
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Страница 20
... feet would gladly turn - to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock , and near a brook Hurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage , Yet tempering , for my sight , its bustling rage In the soft heaven of a translucent pool ; Thence ...
... feet would gladly turn - to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock , and near a brook Hurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage , Yet tempering , for my sight , its bustling rage In the soft heaven of a translucent pool ; Thence ...
Страница 23
... feet the grass , We will startle from her nest The lively lark with speckled breast , And hear the floating clouds among Her gale - transported matin song ; Or on the upland stile , embowered With fragrant hawthorn snowy - flowered ...
... feet the grass , We will startle from her nest The lively lark with speckled breast , And hear the floating clouds among Her gale - transported matin song ; Or on the upland stile , embowered With fragrant hawthorn snowy - flowered ...
Страница 24
... feet through ragged shoes descried . But , oh , when evening's virgin Queen Sits on her fringed throne serene , We will seek the woody lane , By the hamlet on the plain , Where the weary rustic nigh Shall whistle his wild melody , And ...
... feet through ragged shoes descried . But , oh , when evening's virgin Queen Sits on her fringed throne serene , We will seek the woody lane , By the hamlet on the plain , Where the weary rustic nigh Shall whistle his wild melody , And ...
Страница 25
... feet To the lone Abbey's still retreat , Embowered in the distant glen , Far from the busy haunts of men , Where , as we sit upon the tomb , The glow - worm's light may gild the gloom , And show to Fancy's saddest eye Where some lost ...
... feet To the lone Abbey's still retreat , Embowered in the distant glen , Far from the busy haunts of men , Where , as we sit upon the tomb , The glow - worm's light may gild the gloom , And show to Fancy's saddest eye Where some lost ...
Страница 26
... feet , While from the tombs , with confessed breath , Distinct responds the voice of death . If thou , mild Sage , wilt condescend Thus on my footsteps to attend , To thee my lonely lamp shall burn By fallen Genius ' sainted urn ! As o ...
... feet , While from the tombs , with confessed breath , Distinct responds the voice of death . If thou , mild Sage , wilt condescend Thus on my footsteps to attend , To thee my lonely lamp shall burn By fallen Genius ' sainted urn ! As o ...
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Често срещани думи и фрази
A. C. Swinburne Airly Beacon AUTUMN BARBARA FRITCHIE BELFRY OF BRUGES bells beneath bird blow boys come home breast breath bright CLEON clouds cowslips Cusha D. G. Rossetti daffodil dance dark dear death deep doth dream earth England's dead eyes fair flowers glory golden green hair hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Itylus kisses leaves light lips living Lochinvar look Lord Lord Byron loud maiden Minstrels and maids Modern Poets moon morn never night o'er OZYMANDIAS P. B. Shelley Persephone poem rain river rolling rose round S. T. Coleridge Samian wine shade shadow sigh silent sing sleep slumber snow song sorrow soul sound stars stream summer sweet tears Tennyson Terpander thee thine things thou art thought tree uppe Verse voice waves weep wild wind wings Wordsworth
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Страница 76 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Страница 140 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms, and winding mossy ways.
Страница 143 - TO A WATERFOWL. WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Страница 227 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Страница 218 - 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.
Страница 62 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Страница 140 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Страница 148 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, •An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Страница 256 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!
Страница 66 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.