The Poetical Works of John KeatsW. Scott, 1885 - Всего страниц: 310 |
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Стр. 27
... pale spectre face of the poet asleep . Severn's letters are by no means faultless literary compo- sitions , but who would not love him for feeling and writing as he did five days before Death came , and this at least is exquistely told ...
... pale spectre face of the poet asleep . Severn's letters are by no means faultless literary compo- sitions , but who would not love him for feeling and writing as he did five days before Death came , and this at least is exquistely told ...
Стр. 69
... pale , and with an awed face , Among his brothers of the mountain chase . In midst of all , the venerable priest Eyed them with joy from greatest to the least , And , after lifting up his aged hands , Thus spake he - Men of Latmos ...
... pale , and with an awed face , Among his brothers of the mountain chase . In midst of all , the venerable priest Eyed them with joy from greatest to the least , And , after lifting up his aged hands , Thus spake he - Men of Latmos ...
Стр. 79
... pale , who wast so bland And merry in our meadows ? How is this ? 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 ...
... pale , who wast so bland And merry in our meadows ? How is this ? 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 ...
Стр. 113
... pale , With turrets crowned . Four manèd lions hale The sluggish wheels ; solemn their toothèd maws , Their surly eyes brow - hidden , heavy paws Uplifted drowsily , and nervy tails Cowering their tawny brushes . Silent sails This ...
... pale , With turrets crowned . Four manèd lions hale The sluggish wheels ; solemn their toothèd maws , Their surly eyes brow - hidden , heavy paws Uplifted drowsily , and nervy tails Cowering their tawny brushes . Silent sails This ...
Стр. 127
... pale For one whose cheek is pale : thou dost bewail His tears , who weeps for thee . Where dost thou sigh ? Ah ! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye , Or what a thing is love ! ' Tis She , but lo ! How changed , how full of ache ...
... pale For one whose cheek is pale : thou dost bewail His tears , who weeps for thee . Where dost thou sigh ? Ah ! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye , Or what a thing is love ! ' Tis She , but lo ! How changed , how full of ache ...
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Apollo Arethusa Art thou Bacchus beauty behold bliss bosom bower breast breath bright Carian charm chidden clouds cold cool dark dead death deep delight dewy dost doth dream ears earth Elysium Endymion eyes face faint fair Fanny Brawne fear feel flowers forest gentle golden gone green grief hair hand happy heard heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lone look lute Lycius lyre Mermaid Tavern moon morning mortal mossy Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale passed passion pleasant poet Porphyro rill ringdove rose round Saturn Satyrs Scylla shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whisper wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Стр. 271 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness!* Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme...
Стр. 269 - 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. 271 - 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. 268 - 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. 270 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmed darkness guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
Стр. 223 - And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, — I've mickle time to grieve.
Стр. 269 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Стр. 61 - Made for our searching. Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils, With the green world they live in ; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make '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...
Стр. 229 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake ! "Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: " Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, "Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Стр. 280 - Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...