Sibylline Leaves: A Collection of Poems |
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63 psl.
O Liberty ! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee , many a weary hour ; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain , nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power . Alike from all , howe'er they praise thee ...
O Liberty ! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee , many a weary hour ; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain , nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power . Alike from all , howe'er they praise thee ...
100 psl.
I remembered , in general , that Milton had concluded one of his works on Reformation , written in the fervour of his youthful imagination , in a high poetic strain , that wanted metre only to become a lyrical poem .
I remembered , in general , that Milton had concluded one of his works on Reformation , written in the fervour of his youthful imagination , in a high poetic strain , that wanted metre only to become a lyrical poem .
122 psl.
His dying words but when I reach'd That tenderest strain of all the ditty , My faultering voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrilld my guileless Genevieve ; The music , and the ...
His dying words but when I reach'd That tenderest strain of all the ditty , My faultering voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrilld my guileless Genevieve ; The music , and the ...
144 psl.
These feel not Music's genuine power , nor deign To melt at Nature's passion - warbled plaint ; But when the long - breath'd singer's uptrill'd strain Bursts in a squall - they gape for wonderment . Hark ! the deep buzz of Vanity and ...
These feel not Music's genuine power , nor deign To melt at Nature's passion - warbled plaint ; But when the long - breath'd singer's uptrill'd strain Bursts in a squall - they gape for wonderment . Hark ! the deep buzz of Vanity and ...
149 psl.
Say then , what muse inspir'd these genial strains , And lit his spirit to so bright a flame ? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains , Which gentle hearts shall mourn ; but chief , the name Of Gratitude !
Say then , what muse inspir'd these genial strains , And lit his spirit to so bright a flame ? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains , Which gentle hearts shall mourn ; but chief , the name Of Gratitude !
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Sibylline Leaves A Collection of Poems (Classic Reprint) Samuel Taylor Coleridge Peržiūra negalima - 2016 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ancient arms Author babe beautiful beneath bird blessed blue breath breeze bright calm child close cloud dark dead dear death deep dream Earth face fair FAMINE Father fear feelings gazed gentle green groan half hand hath head hear heard heart Heaven hill hope hour leaves light limbs living look loud Maid Mariner mind Moon morn Mother moved Nature never night o'er once pain Peace pleasure Poem poor present Price Rain rest rise rock rose round scarcely ship silent sing sleep soft song soon soul sound spirit stars stood strain strange stream sweet tale tears tell thee things thou thought truth twas voice wild wind wings wood youth
Populiarios ištraukos
38 psl. - I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.
37 psl. - Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row." And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" The Hermit crossed his brow. "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say What manner of man art thou?
27 psl. - Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.
10 psl. - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
22 psl. - My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost.
35 psl. - Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said "And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them. Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolfs young." "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared
23 psl. - The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot" from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide.
21 psl. - Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole ! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.
164 psl. - Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
30 psl. - Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.