The Golden Pomp: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to ShirleyArthur Quiller-Couch Methuen, 1895 - 382 sider |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 46
Side 2
... Bird , prune thy wing , nightingale , sing , To give my Love good - morrow ; To give my Love good - morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow . Wake from thy nest , robin red - breast , Sing birds in every furrow , And from each bill let ...
... Bird , prune thy wing , nightingale , sing , To give my Love good - morrow ; To give my Love good - morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow . Wake from thy nest , robin red - breast , Sing birds in every furrow , And from each bill let ...
Side 7
... birds have matins said , And sung their thankful hymns , ' tis sin , Nay , profanation , to keep in , Whenas a thousand virgins on this day Spring , sooner than the lark , to fetch in May . Rise , and put on your foliage , and be.
... birds have matins said , And sung their thankful hymns , ' tis sin , Nay , profanation , to keep in , Whenas a thousand virgins on this day Spring , sooner than the lark , to fetch in May . Rise , and put on your foliage , and be.
Side 14
... birds do sing , hey ding a ding , ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring . This carol they began that hour , With a hey , and a ho , and a hey nonino , How that life was but a flower In the spring time , the only pretty ring time , When birds ...
... birds do sing , hey ding a ding , ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring . This carol they began that hour , With a hey , and a ho , and a hey nonino , How that life was but a flower In the spring time , the only pretty ring time , When birds ...
Side 22
... birds , O , how they sing ! Doth set my pugging1 tooth on edge ; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king . The lark that tirra - lirra chants , With heigh ! with heigh ! the thrush and the jay , Are summer songs for me and my aunts ...
... birds , O , how they sing ! Doth set my pugging1 tooth on edge ; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king . The lark that tirra - lirra chants , With heigh ! with heigh ! the thrush and the jay , Are summer songs for me and my aunts ...
Side 23
... birds do sing— Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to - witta - woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay , Lambs frisk and play , the shepherds pipe all day , And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay- Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to ...
... birds do sing— Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to - witta - woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay , Lambs frisk and play , the shepherds pipe all day , And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay- Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to ...
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The Golden Pomp: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to Shirley Arthur Quiller-Couch Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1895 |
The Golden Pomp: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to Shirley Arthur Quiller-Couch Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1905 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Anon ANTHONY HOPE Author babe Baring Gould beauty behold birds Book of Airs bright Buckram Campion Corydon Crown 8vo cuckoo dear death delight dost doth E. F. BENSON earth England's Helicon English eyes fair fairy-queen fear flowers GILBERT PARKER Gordon Browne grace green Greensleeves grief H. C. BEECHING hath heart heaven Heigh Herrick honour Illustrated JOHN KEBLE Jonson king kiss Lady leave light lips live look Lord Love's lovers lullaby Madrigals maid merry MESSRS METHUEN'S LIST mind morn never night nonny pity pleasure poem praise pretty Prisoner of Zenda Queen rose Shakespeare shepherd sighs sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spring stanzas story swain tears Tereu thee thine things thou art thou hast thought true love unto verse volume W. E. HENLEY W. G. COLLINGWOOD waly wanton weep wind winter youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 116 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Side 22 - When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds, of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight ; The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he :Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Side 199 - How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords...
Side 275 - A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Side 142 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Side 245 - And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white, When lofty trees I see barren of leaves Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow ; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Side 41 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, — In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.
Side 245 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Side 105 - As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made...
Side 172 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...