The World's Best Poetry ...J. D. Morris, 1904 |
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Página 4
... sweet sake A heart that dotes on truer charms . A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats - of - arms . Lady Clara Vere de Vere , Some meeker pupil you must find , For were you queen of all that is , I could not stoop to ...
... sweet sake A heart that dotes on truer charms . A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats - of - arms . Lady Clara Vere de Vere , Some meeker pupil you must find , For were you queen of all that is , I could not stoop to ...
Página 35
... sweet song died , and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast , - A wish , that she hardly dared to own , For something better than she had known . The Judge rode slowly down the lane , Smoothing his horse's chestnut ...
... sweet song died , and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast , - A wish , that she hardly dared to own , For something better than she had known . The Judge rode slowly down the lane , Smoothing his horse's chestnut ...
Página 37
... sweet , Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet . " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair . " Would she were mine , and I to - day , Like her , a harvester of hay . " No doubtful balance of rights and ...
... sweet , Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet . " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair . " Would she were mine , and I to - day , Like her , a harvester of hay . " No doubtful balance of rights and ...
Página 41
... sweet regent of the sky , Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall , And many an oak that grew thereby . Now naught was heard beneath the skies , The sounds of busy life were still , Save an unhappy lady's sighs , That issued from that lonely ...
... sweet regent of the sky , Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall , And many an oak that grew thereby . Now naught was heard beneath the skies , The sounds of busy life were still , Save an unhappy lady's sighs , That issued from that lonely ...
Página 54
... sweet place , desolate in tall Wild grass , have you forgot How her lips loved to kiss me , Now that they kiss me not ? Be false or fair above me ; Come back with any face , Summer ! -do I care what you do ? You 54 POEMS OF SORROW .
... sweet place , desolate in tall Wild grass , have you forgot How her lips loved to kiss me , Now that they kiss me not ? Be false or fair above me ; Come back with any face , Summer ! -do I care what you do ? You 54 POEMS OF SORROW .
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Términos y frases comunes
angels Annabel Lee Auf wiedersehen beautiful behold beneath bird blessed BLISS CARMAN bloom breast breath bright brow calm cheek child cold Cumnor dark days go dead dear death doth dream dying earth ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING eyes face fair Farewell fear flowers forever glory gone grave gray green grief hand HARRIET BEECHER STOWE hast hath hear heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hope kiss lady light lips live Lochaber look Lord LORD TENNYSON Lycidas Mary morning mother never nevermore night o'er old Kentucky home pain pale peace PIERRE-JEAN DE BÉRANGER rest Robin Adair rose shadow shining shore sigh silent sing sleep smile snow song sorrow soul spirit spring stars summer sweet tears tender thee There's thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought Vere voice weary weep wild wind
Pasajes populares
Página 400 - Ay me, I fondly dream ! Had ye been there, for what could that have done ? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son Whom universal Nature did lament...
Página 148 - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer...
Página 400 - Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : " Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
Página 132 - 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...
Página 386 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Página 239 - Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes — Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade thro...
Página 214 - But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Página 189 - OUT of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
Página 167 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Página 214 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make, With a bare bodkin?