The Golden Pomp: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to ShirleyArthur Quiller-Couch Methuen, 1895 - 382 sider |
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Side 98
... Shall fix my flying wishes , And determine them to kisses . Let her full glory , My fancies fly before ye , Be ye my fictions - but her story . Rich . Crashaw . FLOS FLORUM 99 с FLOS FLORUM ME so oft my 98 THE GOLDEN POMP 86.
... Shall fix my flying wishes , And determine them to kisses . Let her full glory , My fancies fly before ye , Be ye my fictions - but her story . Rich . Crashaw . FLOS FLORUM 99 с FLOS FLORUM ME so oft my 98 THE GOLDEN POMP 86.
Side 126
... story Shall be yours , and eke the glory ; I am your servant , and your thrall . J. Fletcher . CXXVIII A COMPARISON 1 MARK when she smiles with amiable cheer , And tell me whereto can ye liken it— When on each eyelid sweetly do appear ...
... story Shall be yours , and eke the glory ; I am your servant , and your thrall . J. Fletcher . CXXVIII A COMPARISON 1 MARK when she smiles with amiable cheer , And tell me whereto can ye liken it— When on each eyelid sweetly do appear ...
Side 173
... stories of thy finish'd love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights , Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make , Of tourneys and great challenges of knights , And all ...
... stories of thy finish'd love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights , Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make , Of tourneys and great challenges of knights , And all ...
Side 202
... story tell , Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : Nor did I wonder at the lily's white , Nor praise the deep vermilion of the rose ; They were but sweet , but figures of delight , Drawn after you , you pattern of all ...
... story tell , Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : Nor did I wonder at the lily's white , Nor praise the deep vermilion of the rose ; They were but sweet , but figures of delight , Drawn after you , you pattern of all ...
Side 293
... CCCXXVII ON SALATHIEL PAVY A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL WEEP with me , all you that read This little story ; And know , for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry . ' Twas a child that so did thrive In grace.
... CCCXXVII ON SALATHIEL PAVY A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL WEEP with me , all you that read This little story ; And know , for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry . ' Twas a child that so did thrive In grace.
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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...