Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Side 7
... thee no harm : " With that her kerchief off her head she braid , 37 And over his little eyen she it laid , And in her arm she lulleth it full fast , And into th ' heaven her eyen up she cast . 32 overtaken . 35 message . 33 agone . 36 ...
... thee no harm : " With that her kerchief off her head she braid , 37 And over his little eyen she it laid , And in her arm she lulleth it full fast , And into th ' heaven her eyen up she cast . 32 overtaken . 35 message . 33 agone . 36 ...
Side 8
... thee spilt ? 44 O mercy , dearé Constable ? ( quod she ) As let my little child dwell here with thee ; And if thou dar'st not saven him from blame , So kiss him onés in his father's name . " Therewith she looketh backward to the land ...
... thee spilt ? 44 O mercy , dearé Constable ? ( quod she ) As let my little child dwell here with thee ; And if thou dar'st not saven him from blame , So kiss him onés in his father's name . " Therewith she looketh backward to the land ...
Side 9
... Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain ; That mak'st but game of earnest payne . Think not alone under the sun , Unquit the cause thy lovers plaine , Although my lute and I have done . May chance thee lye withred and old , In winter.
... Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain ; That mak'st but game of earnest payne . Think not alone under the sun , Unquit the cause thy lovers plaine , Although my lute and I have done . May chance thee lye withred and old , In winter.
Side 10
Aubrey Thomas De Vere. May chance thee lye withred and old , In winter nights that are so cold , Playning in vain unto the moon ; Thy wishes then dare not be told : Care then who list ! for I have done . And then may chaunce thee to ...
Aubrey Thomas De Vere. May chance thee lye withred and old , In winter nights that are so cold , Playning in vain unto the moon ; Thy wishes then dare not be told : Care then who list ! for I have done . And then may chaunce thee to ...
Side 18
... thee beds of roses , And a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers , and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle . A gown made of the finest wool , Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; Fair lined slippers for the cold , With ...
... thee beds of roses , And a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers , and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle . A gown made of the finest wool , Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; Fair lined slippers for the cold , With ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2016 |
Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed by a de Vere Aubrey De Vere Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2012 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds born A.D. bosom breast breath bright Castara Chaucer clouds customed hill dark dead dear death deep delight died A.D. dost doth dream dull earth dwelling earth English poetry eyes fair fame fancy flowers genius GILES FLETCHER glory Gondibert grace grave green happy hast hath hear heart heaven hills honour hour Idlesse king light living looks Lord Lord Byron lyre morning mortal nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er PHILIP MASSINGER pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rills rise rocks rose round Samian wine shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet sweet oblivion tears Tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought trees unto vale vex'd virgin voice wave wind wings woods wouldst youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 253 - 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...
Side 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Side 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Side 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Side 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Side 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Side 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Side 149 - 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. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Side 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Side 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.