Poetry for RepetitionHenry Twells Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1862 - 226 psl. |
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3 psl.
... soon , For there is the dawn of the rising moon . " " Canst hear , " said one , " the breakers roar ? For methinks we should be near the shore . Now where we are I cannot tell , But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell . " They hear no ...
... soon , For there is the dawn of the rising moon . " " Canst hear , " said one , " the breakers roar ? For methinks we should be near the shore . Now where we are I cannot tell , But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell . " They hear no ...
5 psl.
... soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth ; Might learn from the wisdom of age , And be cheered by the sallies of youth . Religion ! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly ...
... soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth ; Might learn from the wisdom of age , And be cheered by the sallies of youth . Religion ! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly ...
6 psl.
... Soon hurries me back to despair ! But the sea - fowl is gone to her nest , The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest , And I to my cabin repair . There's mercy in every place ; And mercy , encouraging thought ...
... Soon hurries me back to despair ! But the sea - fowl is gone to her nest , The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest , And I to my cabin repair . There's mercy in every place ; And mercy , encouraging thought ...
29 psl.
... soon , too soon , the wintry hour Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow's And stormy passion's rage ! power , O Thou , whose infant feet were found Within Thy Father's shrine ! Whose years , with changeless virtue crown'd ...
... soon , too soon , the wintry hour Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow's And stormy passion's rage ! power , O Thou , whose infant feet were found Within Thy Father's shrine ! Whose years , with changeless virtue crown'd ...
30 psl.
... soon provoked , she easily forgives , And much she suffers as she much believes . Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ; She builds our quiet as she forms our lives : Lays the rough path of peevish nature even , And opens in our ...
... soon provoked , she easily forgives , And much she suffers as she much believes . Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ; She builds our quiet as she forms our lives : Lays the rough path of peevish nature even , And opens in our ...
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Beau marked beneath birds bless bliss blow Branksome Hall breast breath breeze bright brow Cæsar cheerful cried dark dead dear death deep doth dream e'en earth ETON COLLEGE Eugene Aram fair father fear fire flowers Gelert glorious glow gone grace grave green hath hear heard heart heaven HEMANS HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill honour hour J. G. LOCKHART king knew land light live look look'd Lord LORD BYRON LORD MACAULAY mercy morn mother ne'er never night o'er once pass'd praise prayer pride rest rose round shade shine sigh sight sing SIR WALTER SCOTT Skiddaw sleep smile song sorrow soul sound Star of Bethlehem stars stood storm sweet tears tell thee thine Thou art thou hast thought towers turn'd Twas village voice wandering waves weep wept wild winds yonder youth
Populiarios ištraukos
199 psl. - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
90 psl. - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
200 psl. - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, . Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
9 psl. - IT was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "Tis some poor fellow's...
29 psl. - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
138 psl. - MY days among the Dead are past; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
83 psl. - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
204 psl. - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
127 psl. - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, the day Battle's...
215 psl. - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searcst, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.