The English Poets: Wordsworth to TennysonThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 |
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Стр. 13
... hand of Phidias . ' ( A Sicilian Summer , by Henry Taylor ) . As life went on , he wrote a great deal , and with unequal power and felicity . It may be doubted whether he had the singularly rare capa- city for undertaking , what was the ...
... hand of Phidias . ' ( A Sicilian Summer , by Henry Taylor ) . As life went on , he wrote a great deal , and with unequal power and felicity . It may be doubted whether he had the singularly rare capa- city for undertaking , what was the ...
Стр. 26
... hand . Not blither is the mountain roe : With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow , That rises up like smoke . The storm came on before its time : She wandered up and down ; And many a hill did Lucy climb , But never ...
... hand . Not blither is the mountain roe : With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow , That rises up like smoke . The storm came on before its time : She wandered up and down ; And many a hill did Lucy climb , But never ...
Стр. 31
... did not wish her mine ! ' Matthew is in his grave , yet now , Methinks , I see him stand , As at that moment , with a bough Of wilding in his hand . ( 1799. ) THE FOUNTAIN . A CONVERSATION . We talked with open WILLIAM WORDSWORTH . 31.
... did not wish her mine ! ' Matthew is in his grave , yet now , Methinks , I see him stand , As at that moment , with a bough Of wilding in his hand . ( 1799. ) THE FOUNTAIN . A CONVERSATION . We talked with open WILLIAM WORDSWORTH . 31.
Стр. 33
... hand , and said , ' Alas ! that cannot be . ' We rose up from the fountain - side ; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep - track did we glide ; And through the wood we went ; D And , ere we came to Leonard's rock , He WILLIAM ...
... hand , and said , ' Alas ! that cannot be . ' We rose up from the fountain - side ; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep - track did we glide ; And through the wood we went ; D And , ere we came to Leonard's rock , He WILLIAM ...
Стр. 40
... hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful ? O happy pleasure ! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell ; Adopt your homely ways and dress , A Shepherd , thou a Shepherdess ! But I could frame a wish for thee More ...
... hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful ? O happy pleasure ! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell ; Adopt your homely ways and dress , A Shepherd , thou a Shepherdess ! But I could frame a wish for thee More ...
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Adosinda Ancient Mariner ballads beauty beneath bird blank verse breast breath breeze bright brow Byron calm Christabel cloud Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth Ebenezer Elliott Emily Brontë eyes fair fear feel flowers gaze gentle grace grave green hand happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill hour Keats lady lake light live look Lyrical Ballads mind moon morn mountains nature ne'er never night o'er once passion pleasure poems poet poetic poetry River Duddon ROBERT SOUTHEY round Samian wine shade Shelley ship silent sing Siverian sleep smile song sonnets sorrow soul sound Southey spirit stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees truth Twas verse voice wandering waves weary wild WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES wind Wordsworth youth
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Стр. 28 - 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. 19 - Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power...
Стр. 459 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: — Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Стр. 457 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Стр. 21 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive ; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.
Стр. 41 - THE SOLITARY REAPER. Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Стр. 20 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Стр. 284 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
Стр. 83 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will:...
Стр. 451 - Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...