Favourite English poems and poets1870 - Всего страниц: 672 |
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Стр. vii
... Four Sonnets * ww w 30 Some Glory in their Birth . 64 Blow , Blow , thou Winter Wind 65 34 Where the Bee sucks 67 38 Antolycus ' Song 68 You Spotted Snakes . 69 . PAGE WM . SHAKESPEARE continued . And will he not. vii b 2.
... Four Sonnets * ww w 30 Some Glory in their Birth . 64 Blow , Blow , thou Winter Wind 65 34 Where the Bee sucks 67 38 Antolycus ' Song 68 You Spotted Snakes . 69 . PAGE WM . SHAKESPEARE continued . And will he not. vii b 2.
Стр. viii
... Song . 76 shady Grove . • 127 To the Thrush . 128 PHINEAS FLETCHER . 77 1584- 1650 . 87 89 My Mind to me 90 LORD BACON .-- 1561-1626 . Life . SAMUEL DANIEL . - 1562-1619 . I must not grieve Fair is my Love GILES FLETCHER . - 1588-1625 ...
... Song . 76 shady Grove . • 127 To the Thrush . 128 PHINEAS FLETCHER . 77 1584- 1650 . 87 89 My Mind to me 90 LORD BACON .-- 1561-1626 . Life . SAMUEL DANIEL . - 1562-1619 . I must not grieve Fair is my Love GILES FLETCHER . - 1588-1625 ...
Стр. ix
... Song for Saint Cecilia's Day SIR CHARLES SEDLEY . - 1639- 1701 . Love still has something THOMAS HEYWOOD . About 1650 . Give my Love good - morrow JOHN POMFRET . - 1667-1703 . The Choice . CHARLES SACKVILLE . 1706 . • 224 225 1637- To ...
... Song for Saint Cecilia's Day SIR CHARLES SEDLEY . - 1639- 1701 . Love still has something THOMAS HEYWOOD . About 1650 . Give my Love good - morrow JOHN POMFRET . - 1667-1703 . The Choice . CHARLES SACKVILLE . 1706 . • 224 225 1637- To ...
Стр. x
... Song in Ella . The Resignation JOHN WOLCOTT . - 1738-1819 . The Old Shepherd's Dog ROBERT BURNS . - 1759-96 . The Cotter's Saturday Night . John Anderson . • 378 379 PAGE WILLIAM COWPER — continued . Loss of the Royal George ' 363 On ...
... Song in Ella . The Resignation JOHN WOLCOTT . - 1738-1819 . The Old Shepherd's Dog ROBERT BURNS . - 1759-96 . The Cotter's Saturday Night . John Anderson . • 378 379 PAGE WILLIAM COWPER — continued . Loss of the Royal George ' 363 On ...
Стр. xi
... Song . 576 JOHN CLARE . - 1793-1864 . To Those we've left behind us 577 WILLIAM MOTHERWELL . - 1798- 1835 . The Thrush's Nest . ELIZABETA BARRETT BROWN- ING . - 1809-61 . 616 They come , the merry Summer Months The Sleep • . 617 579 ...
... Song . 576 JOHN CLARE . - 1793-1864 . To Those we've left behind us 577 WILLIAM MOTHERWELL . - 1798- 1835 . The Thrush's Nest . ELIZABETA BARRETT BROWN- ING . - 1809-61 . 616 They come , the merry Summer Months The Sleep • . 617 579 ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
a-thynkynge beauty beneath bird BIRKET FOSTER blow born breast breath bright CHRISTOPHER MARLOW clouds CRESWICK dead dear death delight died doth dream E. H. WEHNERT E. M. WIMPERIS earth eyes Faerie Queene fair fame favourite fear flowers gentle GEORGE THOMAS glory grace grave green grief groves GUSTAVE Doré happy HARRISON WEIR hath hear heard heart heaven hill honour Hudibras Inchcape Rock JOHN GILBERT JOSHUA SYLVESTER King lady light live Lochaber look Lord Lute Lycidas merry mind morn mother ne'er never night Nightingale o'er Palie Piers Ploughman pleasure poem poet poetry praise pray Queen rise rose round sche seem'd shade shepherd sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound swain tears tell thee thine thou art thought Twas voice waves weary Westminster Abbey wild wind youth
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Стр. 318 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
Стр. 307 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:' THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Стр. 304 - 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...
Стр. 582 - And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ?" The Vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." " And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so,
Стр. 70 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
Стр. 419 - 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. 301 - Await alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Стр. 299 - 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.
Стр. 494 - Are those her ribs through which the Sun, Did peer, as through a grate ? And is that Woman all her crew ? Is that a DEATH ? and are there two ? Is DEATH that woman's mate ? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice ; " The game is done ! I've won ! I've won ! " Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
Стр. 552 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by ;...