PoemsPhillips, Sampson & Company, 1856 - 251 psl. |
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53 psl.
... shadows on my hill ! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me , as does my dog : we sympathize ; And , I affirm , my actions smack of the soil . ' Where are these men ? Asleep beneath their grounds ; And strangers , fond as they ...
... shadows on my hill ! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me , as does my dog : we sympathize ; And , I affirm , my actions smack of the soil . ' Where are these men ? Asleep beneath their grounds ; And strangers , fond as they ...
68 psl.
... shadows , colors , clouds , Grass - buds , and caterpillar - shrouds , Boughs on which the wild bees settle , Tints that spot the violets petal , Why Nature loves the number five , And why the star - form she repeats : Lover of all ...
... shadows , colors , clouds , Grass - buds , and caterpillar - shrouds , Boughs on which the wild bees settle , Tints that spot the violets petal , Why Nature loves the number five , And why the star - form she repeats : Lover of all ...
73 psl.
... shadows green and proud Of the tree and of the cloud . He was the heart of all the scene ; On him the sun looked more serene ; To hill and cloud his face was known , It seemed the likeness of their own ; They knew by secret sympathy The ...
... shadows green and proud Of the tree and of the cloud . He was the heart of all the scene ; On him the sun looked more serene ; To hill and cloud his face was known , It seemed the likeness of their own ; They knew by secret sympathy The ...
82 psl.
... shadows shake on the rock behind , And the countless leaves of the pine are strings Tuned to the lay the wood - god sings . Hearken ! Hearken ! If thou wouldst know the mystic song Chanted when the sphere was young . Aloft , abroad ...
... shadows shake on the rock behind , And the countless leaves of the pine are strings Tuned to the lay the wood - god sings . Hearken ! Hearken ! If thou wouldst know the mystic song Chanted when the sphere was young . Aloft , abroad ...
85 psl.
... shadow still pursued . For Nature beats in perfect tune , And rounds with rhyme her every rune , Whether she work in land or sea , Or hide underground her alchemy . Thou canst not wave thy staff in air , Or dip thy paddle in the lake ...
... shadow still pursued . For Nature beats in perfect tune , And rounds with rhyme her every rune , Whether she work in land or sea , Or hide underground her alchemy . Thou canst not wave thy staff in air , Or dip thy paddle in the lake ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
agrimony amulets astronomy bard beneath bird blessed blood boughs breeze Canst child churl cloud Cossack Dæmon dear deep delight divine doth draw earth eternal eyebeam Fakirs fall Fate feet flame flowers forest forest fall forever fortune genius glad glow gods grace Hafiz hast hath Hearken heaven hill Houris Jove juice land leaves light lore lover lyre maid melt mind morning mortal mountain Muse myrrh Nature Nature's nectar never o'er ODE TO BEAUTY pale Pentecost PERSIAN pine pine-tree plant Pleiads pulse race rhyme rill rose round Saadi scorn secret seek shadow shed shines sings snow song soul sphere Sphinx star strong sunbeam sweet tempest thee thine eye things thou thou shalt thought thousand throbbing thrush thy heart tree Twill unto Uriel wave wild wind wise wood
Populiarios ištraukos
18 psl. - The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity ; Himself from God he could not free ; He builded better than he knew ; — The conscious stone to beauty grew.
62 psl. - And brier-roses, dwelt among ; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. When the fierce...
250 psl. - BY the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
61 psl. - Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.
15 psl. - Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; — The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, "I covet truth; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth...
19 psl. - The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost.
19 psl. - Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, As the best gem upon her zone, And Morning opes with haste her lids To gaze upon the Pyramids; O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, As on its friends, with kindred eye ; For out of Thought's interior sphere These wonders rose to upper air; And Nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Ararat.
147 psl. - TO EVA. O FAIR and stately maid, whose eyes Were kindled in the upper skies At the same torch that lighted mine ; For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o'er my will, A sympathy divine. Ah ! let me blameless gaze upon Features that seem at heart my own ; Nor fear those watchful sentinels, Who charm the more their glance forbids, Chaste-glowing, underneath their lids, With fire that draws while it repels.
117 psl. - ODE, INSCRIBED TO WH CIIANNINR. TnofeGH loath to grieve The evil time's sole patriot, I cannot leave My honied thought For the priest's cant, Or statesman's rant. If I refuse My study for their politique. Which at the best is trick, The angry Muse Puts confusion in my brain. But who is he that prates Of the culture of mankind, Of better arts and life ? Go, blindworm, go, Behold the famous States Harrying Mexico With rifle and with knife! Or who, with accent bolder, Dare praise the freedom-loving...
67 psl. - Caesar of his leafy Rome, There the poet is at home. He goes to the river-side, Not hook nor line hath he; He stands in the meadows wide, Nor gun nor scythe to see.