Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Стр. 2
... dark yellow . His beard was long and pointed , his forehead large and marble - like in its smoothness , and his eyes ever tended to the ground . As such we commonly see him in the old portraits . Chaucer's works belong to the first and ...
... dark yellow . His beard was long and pointed , his forehead large and marble - like in its smoothness , and his eyes ever tended to the ground . As such we commonly see him in the old portraits . Chaucer's works belong to the first and ...
Стр. 43
... dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted . - Mark the music . Enter Portia and Nerissa at a distance . Por . That light we see is burning in my hall : - How far that little candle throws his beams ! So shines a good deed in a naughty ...
... dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted . - Mark the music . Enter Portia and Nerissa at a distance . Por . That light we see is burning in my hall : - How far that little candle throws his beams ! So shines a good deed in a naughty ...
Стр. 46
... dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? " And so he vanish'd . Then came wand'ring by A shadow1 like an angel , with bright hair Dabbled in blood , and he shriek'd out aloud- " Clarence is come ; false , fleeting , perjur'd Clarence ...
... dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? " And so he vanish'd . Then came wand'ring by A shadow1 like an angel , with bright hair Dabbled in blood , and he shriek'd out aloud- " Clarence is come ; false , fleeting , perjur'd Clarence ...
Стр. 77
... darkness would imprison on his way , Think on thy home ( my soul ) and think aright , Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day ; Thy sun posts westward , passed is thy morn , And twice it is not given thee to be born . The weary ...
... darkness would imprison on his way , Think on thy home ( my soul ) and think aright , Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day ; Thy sun posts westward , passed is thy morn , And twice it is not given thee to be born . The weary ...
Стр. 83
... dark world , thou womb of day ! Unfold thy fair conceptions ; and display The birth of our bright joys . O , thou compacted Body of blessings ! spirit of souls extracted ! O , dissipate thy spicy powers , Cloud of condensed sweets ! and ...
... dark world , thou womb of day ! Unfold thy fair conceptions ; and display The birth of our bright joys . O , thou compacted Body of blessings ! spirit of souls extracted ! O , dissipate thy spicy powers , Cloud of condensed sweets ! and ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
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beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds born A.D. bosom breast breath bright Castara Chaucer clouds customed hill dark dead dear death deep delight died A.D. dost doth dream dull earth dwelling earth English poetry eyes fair fame fancy flowers genius GILES FLETCHER glory Gondibert grace grave green happy hast hath hear heart heaven hills honour hour Idlesse king light living looks Lord Lord Byron lyre morning mortal nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er PHILIP MASSINGER pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rills rise rocks rose round Samian wine shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet sweet oblivion tears Tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought trees unto vale vex'd virgin voice wave wind wings woods wouldst youth
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Стр. 253 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Стр. 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Стр. 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Стр. 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Стр. 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Стр. 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Стр. 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Стр. 149 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Стр. 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Стр. 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.