Lyrical Ballads: Reprinted from the First Edition of 1798D. Nutt, 1891 - 227 psl. |
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48 psl.
... forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free . Since then at an uncertain hour , Now oftimes and now fewer , That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure . I pass , like night , from land to land 48 LYRICAL BALLADS.
... forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free . Since then at an uncertain hour , Now oftimes and now fewer , That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure . I pass , like night , from land to land 48 LYRICAL BALLADS.
60 psl.
... And heath , and thistle , thinly sprinkled o'er , Fixing his downward eye , he many an hour A morbid pleasure nourished , tracing here An emblem of his own unfruitful life : And lifting up his head , he then would gaze 60 LYRICAL BALLADS.
... And heath , and thistle , thinly sprinkled o'er , Fixing his downward eye , he many an hour A morbid pleasure nourished , tracing here An emblem of his own unfruitful life : And lifting up his head , he then would gaze 60 LYRICAL BALLADS.
62 psl.
... dignity abides with him alone Who , in the silent hour of inward thought , Can still suspect , and still revere himself , In lowliness of heart . THE NIGHTINGALE : A CONVERSATIONAL POEM , WRITTEN IN APRIL 62 LYRICAL BALLADS.
... dignity abides with him alone Who , in the silent hour of inward thought , Can still suspect , and still revere himself , In lowliness of heart . THE NIGHTINGALE : A CONVERSATIONAL POEM , WRITTEN IN APRIL 62 LYRICAL BALLADS.
72 psl.
... hour , When from the last hill - top , my sire surveyed , Peering above the trees , the steeple tower , That on his marriage - day sweet music made ? Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid , Close by my mother in their native ...
... hour , When from the last hill - top , my sire surveyed , Peering above the trees , the steeple tower , That on his marriage - day sweet music made ? Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid , Close by my mother in their native ...
77 psl.
... hour of rest , That comes not to the human mourner's breast . Remote from man , and storms of mortal care , A heavenly silence did the waves invest ; I looked and looked along the silent air , Until it seemed to bring a joy to my ...
... hour of rest , That comes not to the human mourner's breast . Remote from man , and storms of mortal care , A heavenly silence did the waves invest ; I looked and looked along the silent air , Until it seemed to bring a joy to my ...
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Lyrical Ballads Reprinted from the First Edition of 1798 William Wordsworth,Samuel Taylor Coleridge Visos knygos peržiūra - 1890 |
Lyrical Ballads Reprinted from the First Edition of 1798 William Wordsworth,Samuel Taylor Coleridge Visos knygos peržiūra - 1890 |
Lyrical Ballads Reprinted from the First Edition of 1798 William Wordsworth,Samuel Taylor Coleridge Peržiūra negalima - 2018 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Albatross Alfoxden Ancyent Marinere babe Basil Montagu Beneath Betty Foy Betty's birds black lips breeze bright changes of text chatter child cold Coleridge dead dear door doth dreadful edition fair fear Goody Blake green happy Harry Gill hath head hear heard heart Heaven hill of moss idiot boy Johnny Johnny's Kilve land of mist limbs Liswyn farm look Lyrical Ballads maid Martha Ray melancholy mind moon moonlight mov'd Nether Stowey never night Nightingale o'er oh misery old Susan pain pleasure poem pond pony poor old poor Susan porringer pray Quoth round sails Salisbury Plain Ship silent Simon Lee song soul spirit stanza stars stood strange Susan Gale sweet tale tears tell thee There's things thorn thou thought thro TINTERN ABBEY tree turn'd Twas voice wedding-guest wherefore wild wind woman wood Wordsworth youth
Populiarios ištraukos
206 psl. - For I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
208 psl. - Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay : For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend ; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes.
66 psl. - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
210 psl. - And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence...
202 psl. - 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 along the heart...
44 psl. - How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?
112 psl. - And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
ix psl. - In the one the incidents and agents were to be, in part at least, supernatural ; and the excellence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such situations, supposing them real.
xii psl. - Poems was to choose incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible in a selection of language really used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual aspect...
110 psl. - That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad : Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; Her beauty made me glad. 74 75 "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ? " " How many? Seven in all," she said And wondering looked at me.