Book of the Poets: The Modern Poets of the Nineteenth CenturyScott, Webster & Geary, 1842 - 490 sider |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 99
Side 43
... sweet Ella , My pretty Ella , my good loving Ella , My gentle little one that hang'st upon me With such fond hold , in good sooth we must part . Here bid Heaven bless me , and no farther go . Ella . Must it be so ? I will bid Heaven ...
... sweet Ella , My pretty Ella , my good loving Ella , My gentle little one that hang'st upon me With such fond hold , in good sooth we must part . Here bid Heaven bless me , and no farther go . Ella . Must it be so ? I will bid Heaven ...
Side 44
... sweet Ella ! whizzing balls there be That , in midway , are from their course declined By the poor orphan's little lisped prayer ; And there be arrows that are turn'd aside , In their swift flight , by the soft sighs of love , Unheard ...
... sweet Ella ! whizzing balls there be That , in midway , are from their course declined By the poor orphan's little lisped prayer ; And there be arrows that are turn'd aside , In their swift flight , by the soft sighs of love , Unheard ...
Side 50
... sweet perfection all his wonder moved ; He saw , admired , nay , fancied that he loved : But Polydore no gen'rous passion knew , Lost to all truth in feigning to be true . No lasting tenderness could warm a heart , Too vain to feel ...
... sweet perfection all his wonder moved ; He saw , admired , nay , fancied that he loved : But Polydore no gen'rous passion knew , Lost to all truth in feigning to be true . No lasting tenderness could warm a heart , Too vain to feel ...
Side 57
The Modern Poets of the Nineteenth Century. HARVEST - HOME . Now , ere sweet Summer bids its long adieu , And winds blow keen where late the blossom grew , The bustling day and jovial night must come , The long - accustom'd feast of ...
The Modern Poets of the Nineteenth Century. HARVEST - HOME . Now , ere sweet Summer bids its long adieu , And winds blow keen where late the blossom grew , The bustling day and jovial night must come , The long - accustom'd feast of ...
Side 63
... 'd day Shall gild once more my native plain ; Curl inward here , sweet woodbine flower ; " Companion of the lonely hour , I'll turn thee up again . " THIS accurate and minute painter of humble life was born BLOOMFIELD . 63.
... 'd day Shall gild once more my native plain ; Curl inward here , sweet woodbine flower ; " Companion of the lonely hour , I'll turn thee up again . " THIS accurate and minute painter of humble life was born BLOOMFIELD . 63.
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
Book of the Poets: The Modern Poets of the Nineteenth Century (Classic Reprint) Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2016 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
art thou beauty behold Belshazzar beneath blood born bosom bower breast breath breeze bright brow CATILINE charms cheek child clouds cold CORBOULD Corn Law dark dead death deep delight Donald Macdonald dread dream earth fair fear flowers gaze gentle glory grave green hame hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry Kirke White holy hope hour Isle of Palms JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES king lady land light lips live lone look look'd Lord Lord Byron Lyre maid Martyr of Antioch Melfi morning mountain ne'er never night numbers o'er pale pass'd poem poet poetical poetry pride rose round Samian wine seem'd sigh sight silent sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit star stood storm stream sweet tears tempest thee thine thought tree turn'd Twas voice waves weep wild wind wings young youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 111 - 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...
Side 112 - Nor man nor boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence, in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither— And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Side 109 - I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone : The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream...
Side 106 - My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side.' ' How many are you, then,' said I, * If they two are in heaven ?' Quick was the little Maid's reply,
Side 413 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Side 167 - That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright, And that he knew it was a fiend...
Side 111 - Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
Side 168 - Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersed vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought ! My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee...
Side 307 - His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay.
Side 105 - You run about/ my little maid/ your limbs they are alive ; if two are in the churchyard laid/ then ye are only five." " Their graves are green/ they may be seen/" the little maid replied/ "twelve steps or more from my mother's door/ and they are side by side.