The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth CenturyJ. Sharpe, 1830 - 360 страници |
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Страница 5
... art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both of soul and sense Awoke by infant innocence ! Though dear the forms by fancy wove ...
... art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both of soul and sense Awoke by infant innocence ! Though dear the forms by fancy wove ...
Страница 43
... thou hast won thy rest at last , And all the grief is mine . I think upon thy gain , Whate'er to me it cost , And ... art my spirit's all , Just as thou wert 43 think of thee By T K Hervey.
... thou hast won thy rest at last , And all the grief is mine . I think upon thy gain , Whate'er to me it cost , And ... art my spirit's all , Just as thou wert 43 think of thee By T K Hervey.
Страница 44
Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth Century Lyre. Thou art my spirit's all , Just as thou wert in youth ; Still from thy grave no shadows fall Upon my lonely truth ; - A taper yet above thy tomb , Since lost its sweeter rays , And what is ...
Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth Century Lyre. Thou art my spirit's all , Just as thou wert in youth ; Still from thy grave no shadows fall Upon my lonely truth ; - A taper yet above thy tomb , Since lost its sweeter rays , And what is ...
Страница 56
... Thou meet'st the splendour of his blaze . Bird of Colombia ! well art thou An emblem of our native land ; With unblench'd front and noble brow , Among the nations doom'd to stand ; Proud , like her mighty mountain woods ; Like her own ...
... Thou meet'st the splendour of his blaze . Bird of Colombia ! well art thou An emblem of our native land ; With unblench'd front and noble brow , Among the nations doom'd to stand ; Proud , like her mighty mountain woods ; Like her own ...
Страница 68
... thou hast thrown o'er all thy blessed songs A veil of feminine thought , that still doth greet The soul with joy ... art can be , Far from their native ocean still repeat For ever its loved roar , in mimic murmurs sweet . THE MINSTER ...
... thou hast thrown o'er all thy blessed songs A veil of feminine thought , that still doth greet The soul with joy ... art can be , Far from their native ocean still repeat For ever its loved roar , in mimic murmurs sweet . THE MINSTER ...
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ALARIC art thou beauty beneath billows bird blue bosom bower breast breath bright brow calm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep doth dream e'en earth fair fame fancy crown feel fled flowers gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave green grief hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour JOHN MOULTRIE leaves life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute LYRE mirth moon morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale pass'd rest rose round Sappho Scottish lassie seem'd shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars storm stream summer sweet tears tempest thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought tree Twas Valentine's day voice waking eye wave weep wild wind wings young youth