A New Library of Poetry and Song, Том 1Fords, Howard & Hulbert, 1877 |
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Стр. xxiv
... Golden Girl , A Hunter's Song , The Life 564 430 94 144 618 Sub Silentio Why ? Publishers : Hurd & Houghton , New York . ROBERT THE SECOND . Veni Sancte Spiritus ( Translation of Catha- rine Winkworth ) . 728 ROBERTS , SARAH . 138 88 ...
... Golden Girl , A Hunter's Song , The Life 564 430 94 144 618 Sub Silentio Why ? Publishers : Hurd & Houghton , New York . ROBERT THE SECOND . Veni Sancte Spiritus ( Translation of Catha- rine Winkworth ) . 728 ROBERTS , SARAH . 138 88 ...
Стр. lxxv
... golden light should lie , And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by . The oriole should build and tell His love - tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there , and there be heard The ...
... golden light should lie , And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by . The oriole should build and tell His love - tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there , and there be heard The ...
Стр. 26
... GOLDEN head so lowly bending , Little feet so white and bare , Dewy eyes , half shut , half opened , Lisping out her evening prayer . " Now I lay , " repeat it , darling- 66 ' Lay me , " lisped the tiny lips Of my daughter , kneeling ...
... GOLDEN head so lowly bending , Little feet so white and bare , Dewy eyes , half shut , half opened , Lisping out her evening prayer . " Now I lay , " repeat it , darling- 66 ' Lay me , " lisped the tiny lips Of my daughter , kneeling ...
Стр. 27
... golden head close to my knee , Sweet eyes of tender , gentianella blue Fixed upon mine , a little coaxing voice , - Only we two . " Tell it again ! " Insatiate demand ! And like a toiling spider where I sat , I wove and spun the many ...
... golden head close to my knee , Sweet eyes of tender , gentianella blue Fixed upon mine , a little coaxing voice , - Only we two . " Tell it again ! " Insatiate demand ! And like a toiling spider where I sat , I wove and spun the many ...
Стр. 38
... golden That sprinkle the vale below ; Not for the milk - white lilies That lean from the fragrant ledge , Coquetting all day with the sunbeams , And stealing their golden edge ; Not for the vines on the upland , Where the bright red ...
... golden That sprinkle the vale below ; Not for the milk - white lilies That lean from the fragrant ledge , Coquetting all day with the sunbeams , And stealing their golden edge ; Not for the vines on the upland , Where the bright red ...
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ALFRED TENNYSON ALICE CARY angel beauty birds blessed bliss bosom boys breast breath bright brow Bryant cheek child cold dark dead dear death doth dream earth ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING eyes face fair father fear feet flowers forever gentle glory golden gone grace grave green hair hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh-ho hope hour JEAN INGELOW JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER kiss lero light lips live look Lord love thee love's lover maid morning mother ne'er never nevermore night o'er pain poems poet praise prayer ROBERT BURNS ROBERT HERRICK Robin Adair rose round SAMUEL LOVER shadows shine sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars sweet tears tell tender There's thine things THOMAS HOOD THOMAS MOORE thou art thought voice weary weep WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT wind words youth
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Стр. 49 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
Стр. 425 - The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
Стр. 301 - T^EAR no more the heat o' the sun -*- Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the...
Стр. 242 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Стр. 243 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Стр. 324 - LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home — Lead Thou me on! Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene — one step enough for me.
Стр. 306 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Стр. 284 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along. With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Стр. 236 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
Стр. 236 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.