Comentarios de usuarios - Escribir una reseña
No hemos encontrado ninguna reseña en los sitios habituales.
Otras ediciones - Ver todo
admirable Allston Ambla Artevelde artist Bach beauty Beethoven better breast brother calm character Charles Wesley charm child clavichord critic deep delight divine drama earth expression eyes faith fancy feel felt flowers fugue genius give grace Handel happy harmony harpsichord Haydn hear heart heaven honour hope hour human intellectual interest John Sebastian less light literature lives look Lord Madame de Stael means melody mind misanthropy Mozart muse nature never noble o'er Paracelsus passages passion perfect Philip Van Artevelde picture play pleasure poems poet poetic poetry present Prince reverence rich scene seems Senesino Shakspeare Sir James Mackintosh song soul speak spirit stars Strafford SWEDENBORGIANISM sweet sympathy taste tender thee things thou thought tion tone true truth verse whole wish Witchcraft words Wordsworth write
Página 71 - What thou art we know not: What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Página 87 - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear O Lady!
Página 39 - Fra Pandolf" by design: for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I...
Página 74 - Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart.
Página 72 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Página 88 - To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Página 75 - The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a Tropic sky, Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood.
Página 88 - And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars ; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen : Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel how beautiful they are ! in.