PoemsGinn & Company, 1896 - Всего страниц: 302 |
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Стр. xii
... face and figure . The maternal grandfather had left a moderate fortune to the Keats children , which was not too well man- aged by the trustees . A considerable portion of John's share was expended upon his education . He was taken from ...
... face and figure . The maternal grandfather had left a moderate fortune to the Keats children , which was not too well man- aged by the trustees . A considerable portion of John's share was expended upon his education . He was taken from ...
Стр. xix
... face with a calmness of countenance that I can never forget , and said , ' I know the color of that blood — it is arterial blood- I cannot be deceived in that color- that drop of blood is my death - warrant — I must die . ' " - He ...
... face with a calmness of countenance that I can never forget , and said , ' I know the color of that blood — it is arterial blood- I cannot be deceived in that color- that drop of blood is my death - warrant — I must die . ' " - He ...
Стр. 12
... is spoilt by use : Where's the cheek that doth not fade , Too much gaz'd at ? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new ? Where's the eye , however blue , 70 Doth not weary ? Where's the face One would meet I 2 FANCY .
... is spoilt by use : Where's the cheek that doth not fade , Too much gaz'd at ? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new ? Where's the eye , however blue , 70 Doth not weary ? Where's the face One would meet I 2 FANCY .
Стр. 13
John Keats Arlo Bates. Doth not weary ? Where's the face One would meet in every place ? Where's the voice , however soft , One would hear so very oft ? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth . Let , then ...
John Keats Arlo Bates. Doth not weary ? Where's the face One would meet in every place ? Where's the voice , however soft , One would hear so very oft ? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth . Let , then ...
Стр. 22
... faces , And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases ; O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet briar , And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire ; While at our feet , the voice of crystal bubbles Charms us at once away from all our ...
... faces , And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases ; O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet briar , And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire ; While at our feet , the voice of crystal bubbles Charms us at once away from all our ...
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९९ adieu Æschylus Bacchus beauty behold beneath bliss bower breath bright Carian Charles Cowden Clarke clouds cold Corinth dark death deep delight dost doth dream ears earth Enceladus Endymion eyes Faerie Queene faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle gloom goddess golden green grief hair hand happy heart heaven Hyperion immortal John Keats Keats Keats's kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lone lute Lycius lyre melody morning mortal Naiad never night nymph o'er Ode to Psyche pain pale pass'd passion pleasant poem poet poetry rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sonnet sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling vex'd voice weep whisper wide wild wind wings wonder young youth ΙΟ
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Стр. 5 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Стр. 55 - And there she lulled me asleep And there I dream'd — Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side. I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried — "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
Стр. 3 - 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...
Стр. 5 - 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. 2 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night. And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays...
Стр. 272 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Стр. 276 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV 'Ah, Porphyro!
Стр. 4 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 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!
Стр. 2 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Стр. 10 - But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies...