The English Poets: Selections with Critical IntroductionsThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1894 |
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Resultados 1-5 de 66
Página 20
... gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , Their colours and their forms , were then to me An ...
... gone by ) To me was all in all . - I cannot paint What then I was . The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock , The mountain , and the deep and gloomy wood , Their colours and their forms , were then to me An ...
Página 33
... gone , My life has been approved , And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved . ' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs , The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains ; And , Matthew , for thy ...
... gone , My life has been approved , And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved . ' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs , The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains ; And , Matthew , for thy ...
Página 46
... gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone , And showed my youth How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth . Alas ! where'er the current tends , Regret pursues and with it blends , - Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends By ...
... gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone , And showed my youth How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth . Alas ! where'er the current tends , Regret pursues and with it blends , - Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends By ...
Página 56
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Página 62
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , -yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon ; and blest a sad abode ...
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , -yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon ; and blest a sad abode ...
Índice
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458 | |
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757 | |
827 | |
829 | |
830 | |
832 | |
Términos y frases comunes
ballads beauty beneath blood breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron Canto Charles Lamb charm child Childe Harold cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight Don Juan doth dream earth EDWARD DOWDEN Emily Brontë eyes face fair fame fear feel flowers friends Fugitive Verses gaze gentle grave hand Hartley Coleridge hast hath heard heart heaven hill hour JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE Keats lady lake Leigh Hunt light live lone look mind moon mountains nature ne'er never night o'er once passion pleasure poems poet poetic poetry Roncesvalles round Samian wine scene shade Shelley shore silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit STANZAS stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas verse voice wandering waves weep wild wind Wordsworth youth
Pasajes populares
Página 792 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Página 459 - 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 stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Página 83 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will:...
Página 825 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark: And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Página 324 - 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. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Página 42 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Página 457 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Página 129 - The night is chill ; the forest bare ; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Página 283 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh ! night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong ; Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along From peak to peak the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! And this is in the night.
Página 451 - ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.