The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Том 4Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 1827 |
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Стр. 8
... Look again , and they all are gone ; The cluster round the porch , and the folk Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak ! And scarcely have they disappeared Ere the prelusive hymn is heard : - With one consent the people rejoice ...
... Look again , and they all are gone ; The cluster round the porch , and the folk Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak ! And scarcely have they disappeared Ere the prelusive hymn is heard : - With one consent the people rejoice ...
Стр. 14
... in some respect of pride ; Or melancholy's sickly mood , Still shy of human neighbourhood ; Or guilt , that humbly would express A penitential loneliness . " Look , there she is , my Child ! 14 CANTO I. THE WHITE DOE.
... in some respect of pride ; Or melancholy's sickly mood , Still shy of human neighbourhood ; Or guilt , that humbly would express A penitential loneliness . " Look , there she is , my Child ! 14 CANTO I. THE WHITE DOE.
Стр. 15
William Wordsworth. " Look , there she is , my Child ! draw near ; She fears not , wherefore should we fear ? She means no harm ; " - but still the Boy , To whom the words were softly said , Hung back , and smiled and blushed for joy , A ...
William Wordsworth. " Look , there she is , my Child ! draw near ; She fears not , wherefore should we fear ? She means no harm ; " - but still the Boy , To whom the words were softly said , Hung back , and smiled and blushed for joy , A ...
Стр. 17
... Pass , pass who will , yon chantry door ; And , through the chink in the fractured floor . Look down , and see a griesly sight ; A vault where the bodies are buried upright ! There , face by face , and hand by hand CANTO I. 17 OF RYLSTONE ,
... Pass , pass who will , yon chantry door ; And , through the chink in the fractured floor . Look down , and see a griesly sight ; A vault where the bodies are buried upright ! There , face by face , and hand by hand CANTO I. 17 OF RYLSTONE ,
Стр. 18
... Look down among them , if you dare ; Oft does the White Doe loiter there , Prying into the darksome rent ; Nor can it be with good intent : : - So thinks that Dame of haughty air , Who hath a Page her book to hold , And wears a frontlet ...
... Look down among them , if you dare ; Oft does the White Doe loiter there , Prying into the darksome rent ; Nor can it be with good intent : : - So thinks that Dame of haughty air , Who hath a Page her book to hold , And wears a frontlet ...
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The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth: With a Memoir, Том 4 William Wordsworth Полный просмотр - 1865 |
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Banner Barden Fell Barden Tower beautiful behold beneath bless Bolton Bolton Abbey bowers brave breast breath bright calm Canute cheer Child city of Durham Coniston Creature curacy dark dear deep delight doth Duddon earth Emily endeavour fair fear feelings flowers Francis Friend gentle gliding grace grave green hand happy hath hear heard heart Heaven hill holy honour hope human Isle of Walney Lady language live lonely look Lord Loweswater Maid metre mind morning mortal Mother mountain murmur nature Norton o'er passion peace pleasure Poem Poet Poetry prayer Reader River RIVER DUDDON Robert Walker rocks round Rylstone Seathwaite side sigh sight silent Simon rouse sing smooth solitude song Sonnets sorrow soul spirit spread stand stood sweet tears thee things thou thought Tower Trajan trees Ulpha vale voice Wharf whence White Doe wind youth
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Стр. 350 - Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
Стр. 213 - I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Стр. 360 - Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language ; because in that condition of life our elementary feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more accurately contemplated, and more forcibly communicated...
Стр. 352 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Стр. 294 - The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Стр. 350 - See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral...
Стр. 347 - As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong...
Стр. 333 - So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; A deep distress hath humanised my Soul.
Стр. 367 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Стр. 367 - ... that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to the metre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be strictly the language of prose when prose is well written. The truth of this assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poetical writings, even of Milton himself.