English Poetry of the Nineteenth Century: A Connected Representation of Poetic Art and Thought from 1798 to 1914George Roy Elliott, Norman Foerster Macmillan, 1923 - Всего страниц: 825 |
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Стр. 23
... gone , 95 And from their occupations out of doors The son and father were come home , even then , Their labor did not cease ; unless when all Turned to the cleanly supper - board , and there , Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed ...
... gone , 95 And from their occupations out of doors The son and father were come home , even then , Their labor did not cease ; unless when all Turned to the cleanly supper - board , and there , Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed ...
Стр. 26
... gone . That day at noon She said to Luke , while they two by them- selves Were sitting at the door , " Thou must not go : 295 We have no other child but thee to lose- None to remember- do not go away , For if thou leave thy father he ...
... gone . That day at noon She said to Luke , while they two by them- selves Were sitting at the door , " Thou must not go : 295 We have no other child but thee to lose- None to remember- do not go away , For if thou leave thy father he ...
Стр. 28
... gone , What will be left to us ! - But , I forget My purposes . Lay now the corner - stone , As I requested ; and hereafter , Luke , When thou art gone away , should evil men 405 Be thy companions , think of me , my son , And of this ...
... gone , What will be left to us ! - But , I forget My purposes . Lay now the corner - stone , As I requested ; and hereafter , Luke , When thou art gone away , should evil men 405 Be thy companions , think of me , my son , And of this ...
Стр. 40
... gone : The pansy at my feet 55 Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now the glory and the dream ? V 60 Our birth is but a sleep and a 40 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Ode: Intimations of Immortality.
... gone : The pansy at my feet 55 Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now the glory and the dream ? V 60 Our birth is but a sleep and a 40 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Ode: Intimations of Immortality.
Стр. 48
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , - yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods be- stowed This precious boon ; and blest abode ...
... gone ! Confirm , I pray , the vision with thy voice : This is our palace , - yonder is thy throne ; Speak , and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice . Not to appal me have the gods be- stowed This precious boon ; and blest abode ...
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Adonais art thou Artemidora beauty beneath breast breath bright Camelot cloud cold dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth Empedocles eternal eyes face fair fear feel flowers grief hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour human King King Arthur lady Lady of Shalott Lamia leave light lips live look mind moon morn mortal mother mountains nature never night nymph o'er once Oxus pain painted veil pale pass passion Pausanias poem poet Proem Prometheus Prometheus Unbound rose round Rustum Samian wine Saturn shadow silent Simoïs sing sleep smile song sonnet sorrow soul sound spake spirit stanza stars stood sweet tears Tennyson thee thine things thou art thought Tintern Abbey twas voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings words Wordsworth youth
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Стр. 159 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Стр. 61 - Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' Second Voice 'Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.
Стр. 207 - I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone. And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee!
Стр. 238 - I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! , That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love: — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Стр. 320 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon...
Стр. 90 - The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — "Now tread we a measure!
Стр. 320 - ... the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul,...
Стр. 410 - And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps "Over my Lady's wrist too much...
Стр. 364 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate ; The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ; ' And the white rose weeps, ' She is late;' The larkspur listens, ' I hear, I hear ;' And the lily whispers,
Стр. 254 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.