Miscellaneous poems: Collection of 1846. Last fruit off an old tree. Dry sticks. Additional poems. Criticisms: Idyls of Theocritus. Poems of Catullus. Francesco PetrarcaChapman and Hall, 1876 - 4 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 86
xx psl.
... look at thee Faithfullest of a faithful race , Fast fall the leaves : this never says Fate ! I have askt few things of thee ,. " Fear God ! " says Percival : and when you hear Fear not my frequent verse may raise Few poets beckon to the ...
... look at thee Faithfullest of a faithful race , Fast fall the leaves : this never says Fate ! I have askt few things of thee ,. " Fear God ! " says Percival : and when you hear Fear not my frequent verse may raise Few poets beckon to the ...
xxiii psl.
... look behind , I wonder not that Youth remains I would give something , O Apollo ! I would invoke you once again , . • • • pp . 92 82 174 170 76 172 177 167 334 282 130 15 • 337 95 151 47 115 • 175 125 15 2II 342 • • 272 20 • 132 277 291 ...
... look behind , I wonder not that Youth remains I would give something , O Apollo ! I would invoke you once again , . • • • pp . 92 82 174 170 76 172 177 167 334 282 130 15 • 337 95 151 47 115 • 175 125 15 2II 342 • • 272 20 • 132 277 291 ...
xxiv psl.
... look back upon the world before Let me sit here and muse by thee Let pity and compassion be outspread , Let this man ... Look thou yonder , look and tremble , Lord of the Celtic dells , • Loved , when my love from all but thee had flown ...
... look back upon the world before Let me sit here and muse by thee Let pity and compassion be outspread , Let this man ... Look thou yonder , look and tremble , Lord of the Celtic dells , • Loved , when my love from all but thee had flown ...
xxv psl.
... look . My yarn in verse is short ; I sit among Napier take up anew thy pen , Nature ! thou mayest fume and fret , Nay , thank me not again for those N. • • • 341 318 319 270 • 253 185 350 • 222 279 21 49 166 • 199 324 210 288 • • 120 ...
... look . My yarn in verse is short ; I sit among Napier take up anew thy pen , Nature ! thou mayest fume and fret , Nay , thank me not again for those N. • • • 341 318 319 270 • 253 185 350 • 222 279 21 49 166 • 199 324 210 288 • • 120 ...
xxvi psl.
... once only , have I seen thy face , Once an old sinner call'd a priest • • • • 332 113 176 · 339 75 3 76 • 330 • 330 61 249 336 265 • • 173 • 203 • 339 231 134 322 On days gone by us we look back One leg xxvi TABLE OF FIRST LINES IN.
... once only , have I seen thy face , Once an old sinner call'd a priest • • • • 332 113 176 · 339 75 3 76 • 330 • 330 61 249 336 265 • • 173 • 203 • 339 231 134 322 On days gone by us we look back One leg xxvi TABLE OF FIRST LINES IN.
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Miscellaneous poems: Collection of 1846. Last fruit off an old tree. Dry ... Walter Savage Landor Visos knygos peržiūra - 1876 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Altho Amid art thou Avignon beauty beneath birds blest Boccaccio bosom brave breast breath bright brow call'd CARMEN Catullus Cicero cried crown CYCLAMEN dare death earth Eclogues eyes father fear flowers fond gentle Giovanni Visconti girl glory graceful grave grief Gunlaug hair hand hath head hear heard heart heaven HEXAMETERS honour hope hour Ianthe Ianthe's IDYL Italy JULIUS HARE Laura leave Lesbia light look lookt maid maiden Milton morn Muse never o'er once Ovid Petrarca Pindar poem poet poetry praise priest Propertius pure Rafen rais'd rest Rienzi rise Rome rose round shade sigh sing sleep smile Sonetto song soon soul Southey spring sweet swell tears tell tender thee Theocritus thine thou art thou hast thought thro Tibullus twas Vaucluse verses Virgil voice wing wish words youth
Populiarios ištraukos
56 psl. - ROSE AYLMER AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
392 psl. - Albracca, as romances tell, The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win The fairest of her sex Angelica, His daughter, sought by many prowest knights, Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemain.
12 psl. - Past ruin'd Ilion Helen lives, Alcestis rises from the shades; Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse that gives Immortal youth to mortal maids. Soon shall Oblivion's deepening veil Hide all the peopled hills you see, The gay, the proud, while lovers hail These many summers you and me.
44 psl. - HERE, where precipitate Spring with one light bound Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires, And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night, Soft airs that want the lute to play with 'em. And softer sighs that know not what they want, Aside a wall, beneath an orange-tree, Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier...
84 psl. - I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy! no more From the high terraces, at even-tide, To look supine into thy depths of sky, Thy golden moon between the cliff and me, Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses Bordering the channel of the milky-way. Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico Murmur to me but in the poet's song.
75 psl. - And all refuse to stay. 1 see the rainbow in the sky, The dew upon the grass ; I see them, and I ask not why They glimmer or they pass. With folded arms I linger not To call them back — 'twere vain : In this, or in some other spot I know they'll shine again.
45 psl. - tis and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely, and all die, Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart, Among their kindred in their native place. I never pluck the rose; the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank And not reproacht me; the ever-sacred cup Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoiled, nor lost one grain of gold.
396 psl. - So saying, he caught him up, and, without wing Of hippogrif, bore through the air sublime, Over the wilderness and o'er the plain...
136 psl. - PLAYS ALAS, how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover! And how much narrower is the stage Allotted us to play the sage! But when we play the fool, how wide The theatre expands! beside, How long the audience sits before us! How many prompters! what a chorus!
99 psl. - KNOW not whether I am proud, But this I know, I hate the crowd : Therefore pray let me disengage My verses from the motley page, Where others far more sure to please Pour out their choral song with ease. And yet perhaps, if some should tire With too much froth or too much fire, There is an ear that may incline Even to words so dull as mine.