Little Classics: Poems, lyricalRossiter Johnson J.R. Osgood, 1875 |
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32 psl.
... of Death . And sometimes , glimpses from within of glory ( wondrous sight and sound ! ) Float near me : — -faces pure from sin ; strange music ; saints with splendor crowned : I seem to feel my native air blow down from 32 LITTLE CLASSICS .
... of Death . And sometimes , glimpses from within of glory ( wondrous sight and sound ! ) Float near me : — -faces pure from sin ; strange music ; saints with splendor crowned : I seem to feel my native air blow down from 32 LITTLE CLASSICS .
33 psl.
Rossiter Johnson. I seem to feel my native air blow down from some high region there , And fan my spirit pure : I rise above the sense of loss and pain : Faint forms that lured my childhood's eyes , long lost , I seem to find again : I ...
Rossiter Johnson. I seem to feel my native air blow down from some high region there , And fan my spirit pure : I rise above the sense of loss and pain : Faint forms that lured my childhood's eyes , long lost , I seem to find again : I ...
57 psl.
... blow their trumpets from the steep ; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong . I hear the echoes through the mountains throng , The winds come to me from the fields of sleep , And all the earth is gay ; Land and sea Give themselves ...
... blow their trumpets from the steep ; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong . I hear the echoes through the mountains throng , The winds come to me from the fields of sleep , And all the earth is gay ; Land and sea Give themselves ...
80 psl.
... blow To the full - voiced choir below , In service high and anthems clear , As may with sweetness , through mine ear , Dissolve me into ecstasies , And bring all heaven before mine eyes . And may at last my weary age Find out the ...
... blow To the full - voiced choir below , In service high and anthems clear , As may with sweetness , through mine ear , Dissolve me into ecstasies , And bring all heaven before mine eyes . And may at last my weary age Find out the ...
90 psl.
... blowing lowly ) , With half - dropt eyelids still , Beneath a heaven dark and holy , To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill , - To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave through the thick ...
... blowing lowly ) , With half - dropt eyelids still , Beneath a heaven dark and holy , To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill , - To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave through the thick ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ALFRED TENNYSON blow bonnets of bonnie bonnie Dundee boys brave breast breath bright cowslips crown Cusha dark dead dear death doth dream earth eyes fall feel fill flower Fontenoy forever Freedom's ahead galloped gang free glory glow golden hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honor JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL JEAN INGELOW JOHN MILTON kiss land let us gang life's light lips live Lochiel Locksley Hall long thoughts look Lord Lycidas morn mourn Neath nebber never night o'er open the Westport pain pale flower passion primroses rise ROBERT BUCHANAN round saddle your horses shadow shadows rise shining shore sigh silent sing smile song soul sound spring star sweet tears thee thine things thou thoughts of youth toil uppe voice wander wave weep Westport and let wheel wild WILLIAM MOTHERWELL wind wind's youth are long
Populiarios ištraukos
109 psl. - For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.
78 psl. - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
9 psl. - Love took up the glass of time, and turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
76 psl. - And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure...
85 psl. - In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a, weary dream.
62 psl. - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
97 psl. - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
17 psl. - Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
69 psl. - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
111 psl. - Ay me! I fondly dream — Had ye been there — for what could that have done, What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament...