The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Том 1Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green & Longman, 1832 |
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Стр. xxv
... bird , " His voice was buried among trees , Yet to be come at by the breeze ; " O , Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird , Or but a wandering Voice ? " The Stock - dove is said to coo , a sound well imitating the note of the bird ; but , by ...
... bird , " His voice was buried among trees , Yet to be come at by the breeze ; " O , Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird , Or but a wandering Voice ? " The Stock - dove is said to coo , a sound well imitating the note of the bird ; but , by ...
Стр. xxvi
... Bird , Or but a wandering Voice ? " This concise interrogation characterises the seeming ubiquity of the voice of the Cuckoo , and dispossesses the creature almost of a corpo- real existence ; the Imagination being tempted to this ...
... Bird , Or but a wandering Voice ? " This concise interrogation characterises the seeming ubiquity of the voice of the Cuckoo , and dispossesses the creature almost of a corpo- real existence ; the Imagination being tempted to this ...
Стр. 8
... joy is like an instinct , joy Of kitten , bird , or summer fly ; She dances , runs without an aim , She chatters in her ecstasy . --- Her Brother now takes up the note , And echoes 8 THE MOTHER'S RETURN . The Mother's Return.
... joy is like an instinct , joy Of kitten , bird , or summer fly ; She dances , runs without an aim , She chatters in her ecstasy . --- Her Brother now takes up the note , And echoes 8 THE MOTHER'S RETURN . The Mother's Return.
Стр. 9
... birds that build their nests and sing , And " all since Mother went away ! " To her these tales they will repeat , To her our new - born tribes will show , The goslings green , the ass's colt , The lambs that in the meadow go . - But ...
... birds that build their nests and sing , And " all since Mother went away ! " To her these tales they will repeat , To her our new - born tribes will show , The goslings green , the ass's colt , The lambs that in the meadow go . - But ...
Стр. 16
... Birds warbled round me - every trace Of inward sadness had its charm ; " Kilve , " said I , And so is Liswyn farm . " 66 was a favoured place , My boy was by my side , so slim And graceful in his rustic dress ! And , as we talked , I ...
... Birds warbled round me - every trace Of inward sadness had its charm ; " Kilve , " said I , And so is Liswyn farm . " 66 was a favoured place , My boy was by my side , so slim And graceful in his rustic dress ! And , as we talked , I ...
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Alps art thou beneath Benjamin Betty Betty Foy Bird bowers breast breath bright Brother CHARLES LAMB cheer Child church-yard cliffs clouds Coleorton cottage crag dear delight door Ennerdale eyes Fancy Father fear feel flowers Friend gone Grasmere grave green happy hast hath head hear heard heart Heaven hills hope hour Idiot Boy images Imagination Johnny Kilve Lamb LEONARD light living look lyre mind Moon morning Mother mountain nature never night o'er Ossian pain Paradise Lost pleasure Poems Poet poetry porringer PRIEST racter Reader rill rocks round shade Shakspeare Shepherd side sight silent sing Skiddaw sleep smiles snow solitude song soul sound spirit spot star steep stone Sugh summer Susan sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas vale voice Waggon ween wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wood youth
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Стр. xxvii - As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence ; Wonder to all who do the same espy, By what means it could thither come, and whence; So that it seems a thing endued with sense : Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself...
Стр. 122 - I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
Стр. 14 - Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
Стр. 120 - My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped : When down behind the cottage roof, At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!
Стр. 336 - Works, it is this, — that every author, as far as he is great and at the same time original, has had the task of creating the taste by which he is to be enjoyed : so has it been, so will it continue to be.
Стр. 252 - Joyous as morning, Thou art laughing and scorning ; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, And, though little troubled with sloth, Drunken Lark ! thou would'st be loth To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain River Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver...
Стр. 12 - They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank ; And further there were none...
Стр. 182 - And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift He quickly will repair this loss, and then He may return to us. If here he stay, What can be done? Where every one is poor, What can be gained?
Стр. 4 - Oh ! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the butterfly ! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey : — with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush ; But she, God love her ! feared to brush The dust from off its wings.
Стр. 20 - What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?