A Household Book of English Poetry, Выпуск 160Macmillan, 1870 - Всего страниц: 438 |
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Стр. 7
... peace : - What then remains , but that we still should cry For being born , or , being born , to die ? VII THE SOUL'S ERRAND . Go , Soul , the body's guest , Upon a thankless errand ; Fear not to touch the best ; Lord Bacon . 30 The ...
... peace : - What then remains , but that we still should cry For being born , or , being born , to die ? VII THE SOUL'S ERRAND . Go , Soul , the body's guest , Upon a thankless errand ; Fear not to touch the best ; Lord Bacon . 30 The ...
Стр. 29
XXVII SONNET . Come Sleep , O Sleep , that certain knot of peace , The baiting place of wit , the balm of woe , The poor man's wealth , the prisoner's release , The indifferent Judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof ...
XXVII SONNET . Come Sleep , O Sleep , that certain knot of peace , The baiting place of wit , the balm of woe , The poor man's wealth , the prisoner's release , The indifferent Judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof ...
Стр. 42
... peace with deadly fight : God's love alone doth end with endless ease , Whose joys in hope , whose hope concludes in peace . Let not the luring train of fancies trap , Or gracious features , proofs of Nature's skill , Lull Reason's ...
... peace with deadly fight : God's love alone doth end with endless ease , Whose joys in hope , whose hope concludes in peace . Let not the luring train of fancies trap , Or gracious features , proofs of Nature's skill , Lull Reason's ...
Стр. 45
... peace will I go far , 65 As wanderers do , that still do roam ; But make my strengths , such as they are , Here in my bosom , and at home . Ben Jonson . XLVII TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON . The Muses ' fairest light in no dark time , The ...
... peace will I go far , 65 As wanderers do , that still do roam ; But make my strengths , such as they are , Here in my bosom , and at home . Ben Jonson . XLVII TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON . The Muses ' fairest light in no dark time , The ...
Стр. 61
... peace shall crown our dwelling , And babes , sweet smiling babes , our bed . How should I love the pretty creatures , While round my knees they fondly clung ; To see them look their mother's features , To hear them lisp their mother's ...
... peace shall crown our dwelling , And babes , sweet smiling babes , our bed . How should I love the pretty creatures , While round my knees they fondly clung ; To see them look their mother's features , To hear them lisp their mother's ...
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Alfred Tennyson Ambrose Philips Anon beauty Ben Jonson beneath bird bonnie breath bright busk canst clouds crown dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream e'er earth English English Poetry eyes fair fame fancy fear flowers glory golden grace grave gray green grief hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven Henry Vaughan honour hope hour John Milton King light lines live look Lord Lycidas mind morn mourn Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er pale peace Percy Bysshe Shelley poem poet poetry praise pride rose Samuel Taylor Coleridge shade shine sigh sight sing sleep smile song SONNET sorrow soul spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought trees verse voice weep wild William Blake William Shakespeare William Wordsworth wind woods Yarrow youth ΙΟ
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Стр. 248 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Стр. 282 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Стр. 85 - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
Стр. 257 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Стр. 285 - 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...
Стр. 215 - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Стр. 339 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Стр. 26 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Стр. 51 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Стр. 293 - O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed ; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral ! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shall remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, ! " Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.