The poetical works of John Keats, ed. by W.B. Scott, Выпуск 639George Routledge and sons, the Broadway, Ludgate., 1873 - Всего страниц: 351 |
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Стр. xxvii
... tell : he sat upon a limpet - covered rock among the breakers : it was a quiet evening , and he was happy , seeing An untumultuous fringe of silver foam Along the flat brown sand : I was at home , And should have been most happy ...
... tell : he sat upon a limpet - covered rock among the breakers : it was a quiet evening , and he was happy , seeing An untumultuous fringe of silver foam Along the flat brown sand : I was at home , And should have been most happy ...
Стр. 4
... tell The freshness of the space of heaven above , Edged round with dark tree tops ? through which a dove Would often beat his wings , and often too A little cloud would move across the blue . Full in the middle of this pleasantness ...
... tell The freshness of the space of heaven above , Edged round with dark tree tops ? through which a dove Would often beat his wings , and often too A little cloud would move across the blue . Full in the middle of this pleasantness ...
Стр. 6
... telling of this goodly company , Of their old piety , and of their glee : But let a portion of ethereal dew Fall on my head , and presently unmew My soul ; that I may dare , in wayfaring , To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing ...
... telling of this goodly company , Of their old piety , and of their glee : But let a portion of ethereal dew Fall on my head , and presently unmew My soul ; that I may dare , in wayfaring , To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing ...
Стр. 19
... Tell me thine ailment : tell me all amiss ! - Ah ! thou hast been unhappy at the change Wrought suddenly in me . What indeed more strange ? Or more complete to overwhelm surmise ? Ambition is no sluggard : ' tis no prize , That toiling ...
... Tell me thine ailment : tell me all amiss ! - Ah ! thou hast been unhappy at the change Wrought suddenly in me . What indeed more strange ? Or more complete to overwhelm surmise ? Ambition is no sluggard : ' tis no prize , That toiling ...
Стр. 21
... tell The enchantment that afterwards befel ? Yet it was but a dream : yet such a dream That never tongue , although it overteem With mellow utterance , like a cavern spring , Could figure out and to conception bring All I beheld and ...
... tell The enchantment that afterwards befel ? Yet it was but a dream : yet such a dream That never tongue , although it overteem With mellow utterance , like a cavern spring , Could figure out and to conception bring All I beheld and ...
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adieu Apollo Arethusa art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian censer chidden clouds cold cool Corinth dark death deep delight divine dost doth dream ears earth Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven Hermes Hyperion immortal John Keats Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lute Lycius lyre melodies moon morning mortal mossy muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd passion pinions pleasant rill rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought touch'd trees trembling twas voice warm weep whence whisper wild wind wings wonder young youth
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Стр. 318 - 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...
Стр. 273 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Стр. 272 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
Стр. 279 - And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreathed trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same: And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in ! FANCY.
Стр. 275 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. Though winning near the goal — yet do not grieve: She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love!
Стр. 269 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Стр. 321 - To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Стр. 191 - As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
Стр. 2 - Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Стр. 204 - And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffinworm. Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform ; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.