Poetry of the Fields: Passages from the Poets Descriptive of Pastoral Scenes, Etc., Etc. ... |
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Poetry of the Fields: Passages from the Poets Descriptive of Pastoral Scenes ... Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1864 |
Poetry of the Fields: Passages from the Poets Descriptive of Pastoral Scenes ... Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1865 |
Poetry of the Fields: Passages from the Poets Descriptive of Pastoral Scenes ... Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1867 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
AUGUST bank beauty beneath birds bloom blue bower breast breathe bright brook buds charm cheer clear close clouds comes DAISY delight dewy doth drink dwell early earth ENGLISH SCENERY fair fall field Flow gently flowers fresh give glowing gold grass gray green grove grows hand happy hast hath head hear heart heaven hill hope lambs land lark leaves light look meet morning mountain Nature nest never o'er pass peace Perigot plain pleasant pleasure praise rest rose round rural scenes seek seen shade sight silver simple sing smile soft song soul sound spring stream SUMMER swain sweet tell thee thou thought tree vale valley village violet voice WALK wandering waters waving wild wind wing woods young youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 27 - Stand, never overlook'd our favourite elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.
Side 24 - WISH MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Side 41 - You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
Side 92 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.
Side 28 - Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that with a livelier green Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Side 46 - O clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid. Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betray'd. And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Side 26 - How oft upon yon eminence our pace Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While Admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Side 58 - On her cheek an autumn flush, Deeply ripened ; — such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell ; Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light That had else been all too bright.
Side 35 - BIRD of the wilderness. Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness. Blest is thy dwelling-place™ Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! Wild is thy lay, and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Side 23 - Arcadian plain. Pure stream, in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white round polish'd pebbles...