The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Volum 4Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 1827 |
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Side 4
... mortal Man may not abide : ” — How nearly joy and sorrow are allied ! For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow , For us the voice of melody was mute . But , as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow , And give the timid herbage leave to ...
... mortal Man may not abide : ” — How nearly joy and sorrow are allied ! For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow , For us the voice of melody was mute . But , as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow , And give the timid herbage leave to ...
Side 21
... Hath touched thee , and a Spirit's hand : A voice is with us a command - To chant , in strains of heavenly glory , A tale of tears , a mortal story ! CANTO SECOND . THE Harp in lowliness obeyed ; And CANTO 1 . 1217 OF RYLSTONE .
... Hath touched thee , and a Spirit's hand : A voice is with us a command - To chant , in strains of heavenly glory , A tale of tears , a mortal story ! CANTO SECOND . THE Harp in lowliness obeyed ; And CANTO 1 . 1217 OF RYLSTONE .
Side 73
... , a treacherous wound Unfeeling , brought him to the ground , - oh , grief to tell ! A mortal stroke : -- Thus , thus , the noble Francis fell : VOL . IV . E There did he lie of breath forsaken ; The Banner CANTO VI . 73 . OF KYLSTONE .
... , a treacherous wound Unfeeling , brought him to the ground , - oh , grief to tell ! A mortal stroke : -- Thus , thus , the noble Francis fell : VOL . IV . E There did he lie of breath forsaken ; The Banner CANTO VI . 73 . OF KYLSTONE .
Side 80
... mortal love ; Undaunted , lofty , calm , and stable , And awfully impenetrable . And so beneath a mouldered tree , A self - surviving leafless Oak , By unregarded age from stroke Of ravage saved sate Emily . There did she rest , with ...
... mortal love ; Undaunted , lofty , calm , and stable , And awfully impenetrable . And so beneath a mouldered tree , A self - surviving leafless Oak , By unregarded age from stroke Of ravage saved sate Emily . There did she rest , with ...
Side 89
... mortal Song we frame , by dower Encouraged of celestial power ; Power which the viewless Spirit shed By whom we were first visited ; Whose voice we heard , whose hand and wings Swept like a breeze the conscious strings , When , left in ...
... mortal Song we frame , by dower Encouraged of celestial power ; Power which the viewless Spirit shed By whom we were first visited ; Whose voice we heard , whose hand and wings Swept like a breeze the conscious strings , When , left in ...
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The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth: With a Memoir, Volum 4 William Wordsworth Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1865 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Banner Barden Fell Barden Tower beautiful behold beneath bless Bolton Bolton Abbey bowers brave breast breath bright calm Canute cheer Child city of Durham Coniston Creature curacy dark dear deep delight doth Duddon earth Emily endeavour fair fear feelings flowers Francis Friend gentle gliding grace grave green hand happy hath hear heard heart Heaven hill holy honour hope human Isle of Walney Lady language live lonely look Lord Loweswater Maid metre mind morning mortal Mother mountain murmur nature Norton o'er passion peace pleasure Poem Poet Poetry prayer Reader River RIVER DUDDON Robert Walker rocks round Rylstone Seathwaite side sigh sight silent Simon rouse sing smooth solitude song Sonnets sorrow soul spirit spread stand stood sweet tears thee things thou thought Tower Trajan trees Ulpha vale voice Wharf whence White Doe wind youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 350 - Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
Side 213 - I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Side 360 - Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language ; because in that condition of life our elementary feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more accurately contemplated, and more forcibly communicated...
Side 352 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Side 294 - The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Side 350 - See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral...
Side 347 - As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong...
Side 333 - So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; A deep distress hath humanised my Soul.
Side 367 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Side 367 - ... that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to the metre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be strictly the language of prose when prose is well written. The truth of this assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poetical writings, even of Milton himself.