Little Classics: Poems, lyricalRossiter Johnson J.R. Osgood, 1875 |
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15 psl.
... heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn : And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then ... heavens fill with commerce , argosies of magic sails , Pilots of the purple twilight , dropping down with costly bales ...
... heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn : And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then ... heavens fill with commerce , argosies of magic sails , Pilots of the purple twilight , dropping down with costly bales ...
16 psl.
Rossiter Johnson. Heard the heavens fill with shouting , and there rained a ghastly dew From the nations ' airy navies grappling in the central blue ; Far along the world - wide whisper of the south - wind rush- ing warm , With the ...
Rossiter Johnson. Heard the heavens fill with shouting , and there rained a ghastly dew From the nations ' airy navies grappling in the central blue ; Far along the world - wide whisper of the south - wind rush- ing warm , With the ...
30 psl.
... heaven : And tears and smiles , they are his gift : both good , to smite or to uplift . He knows his sheep : the wind and showers beat not too sharply the shorn lamb : His wisdom is more wise than ours : he knew my nature , - what I am ...
... heaven : And tears and smiles , they are his gift : both good , to smite or to uplift . He knows his sheep : the wind and showers beat not too sharply the shorn lamb : His wisdom is more wise than ours : he knew my nature , - what I am ...
39 psl.
... heavens have felt her sadness ; Her earth will weep her some dewy tears ; The wild beck ends her tune of gladness , And goeth stilly as soul that fears . We two walk on in our grassy places , On either marge of the moonlit flood , With ...
... heavens have felt her sadness ; Her earth will weep her some dewy tears ; The wild beck ends her tune of gladness , And goeth stilly as soul that fears . We two walk on in our grassy places , On either marge of the moonlit flood , With ...
48 psl.
... heaven more strange and sweet . Ah ! life is pleasant in Langley Lane ! There is always something sweet to hear , Chirping of birds or patter of rain , - And Fanny , my little one , always near . And though I am weakly and can't live ...
... heaven more strange and sweet . Ah ! life is pleasant in Langley Lane ! There is always something sweet to hear , Chirping of birds or patter of rain , - And Fanny , my little one , always near . And though I am weakly and can't live ...
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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...