The Poetical Works of John KeatsE. Moxon, 1856 - Всего страниц: 256 |
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Стр. 15
... tears ? Yet dry them up , in bidding hence all fears That , any longer , I will pass my days Alone and sad . No , I will once more raise My voice upon the mountain - heights ; once more Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar ...
... tears ? Yet dry them up , in bidding hence all fears That , any longer , I will pass my days Alone and sad . No , I will once more raise My voice upon the mountain - heights ; once more Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar ...
Стр. 21
... tears , My clenched hands ; -for lo ! the poppies hung Dew - dabbled on their stalks , the ouzel sung A heavy ditty , and the sullen day Had chidden herald Hesperus away , With leaden looks : the solitary breeze Bluster'd , and slept ...
... tears , My clenched hands ; -for lo ! the poppies hung Dew - dabbled on their stalks , the ouzel sung A heavy ditty , and the sullen day Had chidden herald Hesperus away , With leaden looks : the solitary breeze Bluster'd , and slept ...
Стр. 28
... tears were coming , when I heard my name Most fondly lipp'd , and then these accents came : Endymion ! the cave is secreter Than the isle of Delos . Echo hence shall stir No sighs but sigh - warm kisses , or light noise Of thy combing ...
... tears were coming , when I heard my name Most fondly lipp'd , and then these accents came : Endymion ! the cave is secreter Than the isle of Delos . Echo hence shall stir No sighs but sigh - warm kisses , or light noise Of thy combing ...
Стр. 29
... tears Have become indolent ; but touching thine , One sigh doth echo , one poor sob doth pine , One kiss brings honey - dew from buried days . The woes of Troy , towers smothering o'er their blaze , Stiff - holden shields , far ...
... tears Have become indolent ; but touching thine , One sigh doth echo , one poor sob doth pine , One kiss brings honey - dew from buried days . The woes of Troy , towers smothering o'er their blaze , Stiff - holden shields , far ...
Стр. 30
... tears , the swoon of Imogen , Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den , Are things to brood on with more ardency Than the death - day of empires . Fearfully Must such conviction come upon his head , Who , thus far , discontent , has dared ...
... tears , the swoon of Imogen , Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den , Are things to brood on with more ardency Than the death - day of empires . Fearfully Must such conviction come upon his head , Who , thus far , discontent , has dared ...
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Apollo Art thou beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE clouds Corinth dark death deep delight divine dost doth dream earth Endymion eyes face faint fair fancy fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal JOHN KEATS Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips look lute Lycius lyre melodies Mermaid Tavern morning mortal muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd passion pleasant pleasure poet RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES rill rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
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Стр. 209 - 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: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? What men or gods are these?
Стр. 208 - 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. 216 - Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame ; What doth strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth!
Стр. 148 - As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
Стр. 182 - Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, grey legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal...
Стр. 215 - 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 winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind: Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh Of the Fancy's silken...
Стр. 209 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; 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. 155 - 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. 157 - But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: — The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. XLII And they are gone: ay, ages long ago 370 These lovers fled away into the storm.
Стр. 153 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.