The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English LanguageMacmillan, 1882 - Всего страниц: 332 |
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The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language Полный просмотр - 1863 |
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beauty behold beneath birds blest bonnie bower breast breath bright Brignall brow cheek clouds dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth eyes F. W. H. MYERS fair Fancy fear flowers frae FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE gentle glory golden Gray green happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills J. A. SYMONDS kiss ladies leaves LESLIE STEPHEN light live look'd Lord Lord Byron love's lover Lycidas lyre Milton mind morn mountains Muse ne'er never night Nymph o'er P. B. Shelley pale passion pleasure poems Poetry Poets R. C. JEBB R. H. HUTTON round seem'd shade Shakespeare shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee There's thine thou art thought tree Twas voice waly waly waves weep wild winds wings Wordsworth Yarrow youth
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Стр. 174 - 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. 115 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Стр. 243 - 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! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Стр. 15 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
Стр. 164 - 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. 142 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign' d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Стр. 303 - Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Стр. 287 - mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height The locks of the approaching storm.
Стр. 11 - 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. 254 - To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 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.