The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language

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Macmillan, 1880 - Всего страниц: 332
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LibraryThing Review

Пользовательский отзыв  - NickDuberley - LibraryThing

My favourite Poetry anthology. It's been through many editions. I had the Oxford World's Classics one when I was a teenager, and later on the Everyman one - rather easier on the eyes. If you are only going to buy one poetry book, this is the one to get. Читать весь отзыв

LibraryThing Review

Пользовательский отзыв  - PollyMoore3 - LibraryThing

An updated version including some more modern poems. Among many favourites, it includes Ben Jonson's “Hymn to Diana”, one of the most perfect lyrics in the English language (you can recite it to the moon, and I have been known to), and “It is not growing like a tree”. Читать весь отзыв

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Стр. 302 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Стр. 306 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Стр. 61 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
Стр. 55 - Neaera's hair ? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.
Стр. 8 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee...
Стр. 143 - 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. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple...
Стр. 302 - Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make ; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss I feel — I 'feel it all. Oh, evil day ! if I were sullen While earth herself is adorning This sweet May-morning, And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide. Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm...
Стр. 145 - THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Стр. 302 - 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. The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep — No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday — Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me...
Стр. 148 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry : Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o

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