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arms beauty beneath bliss blue breast breath bright clear close clouds cold comes dark death deep delight divine doth dream earth eyes face fair fancy fear feel feet felt flowers forest friends gentle give golden gone green hair hand happy hast head hear heard heart heaven hope hour human keep kiss leaves light lips live look mind morning mortal never night o'er once pain pale pass pleasant pleasure poet poor rest rose round seen shade side sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul sounds spirit stars stood strange streams summer sure sweet tale tears tell tender thee thine things thou thought trees voice warm whispering wide wild wind wings wonder young youth
Страница 240 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret...
Страница 180 - While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon, Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez, and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
Страница 5 - Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the Heaven's brink.
Страница 5 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Страница 242 - Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Страница 240 - 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...
Страница 178 - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
Страница 170 - ST. AGNES' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was ! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold...
Страница 293 - To one who has been long in city pent, Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Страница 148 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture: she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line. Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.