Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Chambers's Cyclopaedia of English Literature A History Critical ..., 3 tomas
Robert Chambers,David Patrick
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1903
admirable appeared ballads beauty became Blackwood's Magazine born bright Byron called Carlyle character Charles Charles Lamb Church Coleridge critic dark daughter death dream Dublin earth Edinburgh Edinburgh Review edition England English Essays eyes fancy father feeling flowers French genius hand hath heard heart heaven humour Irish John king Lady Lavengro Leigh Hunt letters light literary literature lived London look Lord Lyrical Ballads Memoir mind morning National Portrait Gallery nature never night novels o'er ottava rima passed passion philosophy poems poet poetic poetry political popular prose published romance round Saint Kevin Scotland Scott Scottish seems Shelley Sir Walter Scott song soul Southey spirit story sweet thee things thou thought tion Trinity College truth verse voice vols volumes wild William wonder words Wordsworth writing wrote young youth
428 psl. - The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
25 psl. - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
105 psl. - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
139 psl. - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
145 psl. - I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
104 psl. - O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'da long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora...
116 psl. - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
67 psl. - My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man This was my sole resource, my only plan : Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
104 psl. - 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...