The Sibyl: Or, New Oracles from the PoetsCaroline Howard Gilman Wiley and Putnam, 1848 - 313 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 20
104 psl.
... if pleased to cheer himself a space , Look for immediate rapture in your face , And wonder that a cloud could still be there How small soever , when his own is fair . LEIGH HUNT - Rimini . WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY - LOVE ? 104.
... if pleased to cheer himself a space , Look for immediate rapture in your face , And wonder that a cloud could still be there How small soever , when his own is fair . LEIGH HUNT - Rimini . WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY - LOVE ? 104.
105 psl.
... ! " Really people COLERIDGE . Who christen people , ought to pause a little , And think what they're about .. LEIGH HUNT - From the Italian of Casa . WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY - LOVE ? WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY-LOVE? ...
... ! " Really people COLERIDGE . Who christen people , ought to pause a little , And think what they're about .. LEIGH HUNT - From the Italian of Casa . WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY - LOVE ? WHAT IS THE NAME OF YOUR LADY-LOVE? ...
109 psl.
... LEIGH HUNT . 12. Ye hours of expectation , quickly fly , And bring on hours of blest reality , When thou shalt Laura see , beside her stand , Hear her sweet voice , and press her yielded hand . 13. You oft at midnight wander out , Wrapt ...
... LEIGH HUNT . 12. Ye hours of expectation , quickly fly , And bring on hours of blest reality , When thou shalt Laura see , beside her stand , Hear her sweet voice , and press her yielded hand . 13. You oft at midnight wander out , Wrapt ...
164 psl.
... LEIGH HUNT - Rimini . 24. MAN . Again and once again , do you repeat the song , Nay , say you more than half to the damsel must belong ; For she looks with such a look , and she speaks with such a tone , That you almost receive her ...
... LEIGH HUNT - Rimini . 24. MAN . Again and once again , do you repeat the song , Nay , say you more than half to the damsel must belong ; For she looks with such a look , and she speaks with such a tone , That you almost receive her ...
181 psl.
... LEIGH HUNT - Catullus . One small spot Where my tired mind may rest and call it Home . There is a magic in that little word ; It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit . SOUTHEY ...
... LEIGH HUNT - Catullus . One small spot Where my tired mind may rest and call it Home . There is a magic in that little word ; It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit . SOUTHEY ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM BARRETT-The BARRY CORNWALL beauty BEN JONSON beneath bird bloom blossom blue blushing bower breath breeze bright brow BURNS CARLOS WILCOX charm cheek clouds COLERIDGE CRABBE CRABBE-Tales dark deep doth dwell earth ELIZA COOK eyes face FANNY KEMBLE flowers gentle Gentlemen of Verona grace green hair HALLECK happy HARTLEY COLERIDGE hath hear heart heaven HORNE-Orion LADY LADY-LOVE LEIGH HUNT light lily lips look Love's Labor Lost Merchant of Venice merry mind MISS BARRETT morning MOTHERWELL MOULTRIE-The Dream N. P. WILLIS NICOLL night noble o'er OSGOOD passion Poems by Amelia Poets PRAED PRAED-The pure R. H. DANA rose round shade shines sigh sings smile soft song soul spirit Spring star stream Summer sweet TAYLOR-Philip Van Artevelde tender thee thine things thou thought Timon toil trees trembling truth voice walk wave wild wind wings Winter's Tale WORDSWORTH young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
245 psl. - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
230 psl. - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
103 psl. - Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences...
147 psl. - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
101 psl. - This should have been a noble creature : he Hath all the energy which would have made A goodly frame of glorious elements, Had they been wisely mingled ; as it is, It is an awful chaos — light and darkness — And mind and dust — and passions and pure thoughts, Mix'd, and contending without end or order, All dormant or destructive...
144 psl. - There stands the messenger of truth : there stands The legate of the skies ! — His theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
94 psl. - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
251 psl. - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
85 psl. - For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart . . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one!
59 psl. - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face; That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.