Living English Poets: MDCCCLXXXII.Kegan Paul, Trench, & Company, 1883 - 325 psl. |
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viii psl.
... hand , with the excellent manner in which much is now - a - days said , which in its essence is scarcely worth the saying , and they have not considered that such pieces , though in themselves at times exquisite , are likely to be of ...
... hand , with the excellent manner in which much is now - a - days said , which in its essence is scarcely worth the saying , and they have not considered that such pieces , though in themselves at times exquisite , are likely to be of ...
8 psl.
... Hand alone , One Hand has sway . What influence day by day In straiter belt prevents The impious Ocean , thrown Alternate 8 LIVING ENGLISH POETS THE ELEMENTS.
... Hand alone , One Hand has sway . What influence day by day In straiter belt prevents The impious Ocean , thrown Alternate 8 LIVING ENGLISH POETS THE ELEMENTS.
29 psl.
... arching wrist and long extended hands , And graveward fingers lengthening in the moon , Above that shadowy stag whose antlers still Hang o'er the stream RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH THE MONK AND BIRD Born 1807 As RICHARD HENGIST HORNE 29.
... arching wrist and long extended hands , And graveward fingers lengthening in the moon , Above that shadowy stag whose antlers still Hang o'er the stream RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH THE MONK AND BIRD Born 1807 As RICHARD HENGIST HORNE 29.
39 psl.
... - greened alley tells the trace Of his lone step , no sound is stirred , Even when his tawny hands displace The boughs , that backward sweep unheard . His way as noiseless as the trail Of the swift THOMAS GORDON HAKE THE SNAKE-CHARMER.
... - greened alley tells the trace Of his lone step , no sound is stirred , Even when his tawny hands displace The boughs , that backward sweep unheard . His way as noiseless as the trail Of the swift THOMAS GORDON HAKE THE SNAKE-CHARMER.
40 psl.
... hand is stayed ; He knows the hour of death is near . And all that live in brake and bough , All know the brand is on his brow . Yet where his soul is he must go : He crawls along from tree to tree . The old snake - charmer , doth he ...
... hand is stayed ; He knows the hour of death is near . And all that live in brake and bough , All know the brand is on his brow . Yet where his soul is he must go : He crawls along from tree to tree . The old snake - charmer , doth he ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
BABETTE Bassarid beat beneath birds Born boughs breath bright brow dark dead dear death deep doth dream Drowsietown drowsy earth eyes face fair feet fire flowers Godmar golden grass green grow hair hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hounds of spring Jehane King kiss laughed leave light lips live look morn murmur never night nightingale o'er once Ozana pain pale pass phantom islands PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON rain RICHARD WATSON DIXON ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN rose round scattered spaces shadows shining silent sing sleep smile snow soft song soul sound star stood stream strong sundew sweet thee THEOPHILE MARZIALS thine things thou art thought thro Thyiades To-morrow tree turn'd VIEUXBOIS Ville-d'Avray Vizier voice vrom wake waves weep WILLIAM JOHN COURTHOPE Wilt thou wind wings
Populiarios ištraukos
115 psl. - GROW old along with me ! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made : Our times are in His hand Who saith ' A whole I planned, Youth shows but half ; trust God : see all, nor be afraid...
57 psl. - To find him in the valley ; let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air : So waste not thou ; but come ; for all the vales Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee ; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet ; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves...
181 psl. - A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face ? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight ? They will not keep you standing at the door.
7 psl. - LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on ! The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead thou me on ! Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see The distant scene, one step enough for me.
252 psl. - From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
144 psl. - But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife, Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest; And we should win thee from thy own fair life, Like us distracted, and like us unblest. Soon, soon thy cheer would die, Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers, And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made : And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
65 psl. - O WELL for him whose will is strong ! He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong : For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, Who seems a promontory of rock, That, compass'd round with turbulent sound, In middle ocean meets the surging shock, Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd. II. But ill for him who, bettering not with time, Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will, And ever weaker grows thro...
133 psl. - Yes ! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone.
84 psl. - s the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture ! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA.
82 psl. - He came not, no, he came not, The night came on alone, The little stars sat one by one, Each on his golden throne ; The evening wind passed by my cheek, The leaves above were stirred, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.