The English Poets: Wordsworth to DobellThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan and Company, 1907 |
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viii psl.
... Italy • · 93 • 94 95 Austin Dobson 99 • " Ginevra • WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES ( 1762-1850 ) Sonnets : Written at Ostend Influence of Time on Grief November 1793 Bereavement • • SAMUEL TAYLOR Coleridge ( 1772-1834 ) Time , Real and Imaginary ...
... Italy • · 93 • 94 95 Austin Dobson 99 • " Ginevra • WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES ( 1762-1850 ) Sonnets : Written at Ostend Influence of Time on Grief November 1793 Bereavement • • SAMUEL TAYLOR Coleridge ( 1772-1834 ) Time , Real and Imaginary ...
89 psl.
... Italy ( complete edition ) 1834. ] When a poet has become a poet of the past and in the natural course of things his poetry has ceased to be talked about , it is not easy to ascertain how far it may or may not have ceased to be read ...
... Italy ( complete edition ) 1834. ] When a poet has become a poet of the past and in the natural course of things his poetry has ceased to be talked about , it is not easy to ascertain how far it may or may not have ceased to be read ...
90 psl.
... Italy ; and they were written , the earliest at twenty - two years of age , the latest at seventy - one . Human Life is a poem of the same type as The Pleasures of Memory , and in the same verse . The fault of such poems is that they ...
... Italy ; and they were written , the earliest at twenty - two years of age , the latest at seventy - one . Human Life is a poem of the same type as The Pleasures of Memory , and in the same verse . The fault of such poems is that they ...
94 psl.
... Italy from sea to sea exults , As well indeed she may ! But I transgress . He , who has known the weight of praise himself , Should spare another . ' Saying so , he laid His sonnet , an impromptu , at my feet , ( If his , then Petrarch ...
... Italy from sea to sea exults , As well indeed she may ! But I transgress . He , who has known the weight of praise himself , Should spare another . ' Saying so , he laid His sonnet , an impromptu , at my feet , ( If his , then Petrarch ...
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Artemidora ballads beauty beneath blank verse breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron Charles Lamb Childe Harold cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth Ebenezer Elliott EDWARD DOWDEN Emily Brontë English eyes fair fame fear feel flowers friends gaze gentle grace grave green hand happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath hear heard heart heaven Heigho hill hour human Keats lady Leigh Hunt light live look mind moon mountains nature ne'er never night o'er once passion poems poet poetic poetry Roncesvalles rose round Samian wine shade Shelley sigh silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas verse voice WALTER LANDOR wandering waves weary well-a-day wild wind Wordsworth youth
Populiarios ištraukos
51 psl. - I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils ; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced ; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : A poet could not...
29 psl. - The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend : Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. " The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
789 psl. - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
21 psl. - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive...
457 psl. - Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
19 psl. - Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt...
703 psl. - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.
19 psl. - Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
381 psl. - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
324 psl. - But half of our weary task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory.