Selections1897 - 294 psl. |
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5 psl.
... bower , I well remember . - He was one who owned No common soul . In youth by science nursed , And led by nature into a wild scene Of lofty hopes , he to the world went forth A favoured Being , knowing no desire Which genius did not ...
... bower , I well remember . - He was one who owned No common soul . In youth by science nursed , And led by nature into a wild scene Of lofty hopes , he to the world went forth A favoured Being , knowing no desire Which genius did not ...
36 psl.
... bower , this Indian shed , Our own contrivance , building without peer ! A gentle maid , whose heart is lowly bred , Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered , With joyousness , and with a thoughtful cheer , Will come to you ; to you ...
... bower , this Indian shed , Our own contrivance , building without peer ! A gentle maid , whose heart is lowly bred , Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered , With joyousness , and with a thoughtful cheer , Will come to you ; to you ...
38 psl.
... bowers ; Two burning months let summer overleap , And , coming back with her who will be ours , Into thy bosom we again shall creep . 1802 . STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET - COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE ITHIN our happy castle ...
... bowers ; Two burning months let summer overleap , And , coming back with her who will be ours , Into thy bosom we again shall creep . 1802 . STANZAS WRITTEN IN MY POCKET - COPY OF THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE ITHIN our happy castle ...
39 psl.
... bower , Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay ; And , like a naked Indian , slept himself away . Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was Whenever from our valley he withdrew ; For happier soul no living creature has Than he had , being ...
... bower , Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay ; And , like a naked Indian , slept himself away . Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was Whenever from our valley he withdrew ; For happier soul no living creature has Than he had , being ...
47 psl.
... . Thy mornings showed , thy nights concealed , The bowers where Lucy played ; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed . 1799 . THE LAST OF THE FLOCK N distant countries have I 47 AMONG UNKNOWN MEN.
... . Thy mornings showed , thy nights concealed , The bowers where Lucy played ; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed . 1799 . THE LAST OF THE FLOCK N distant countries have I 47 AMONG UNKNOWN MEN.
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ALFRED PARSONS beauty behold beneath bird blank verse blessed bliss bower breath bright BROUGHAM CASTLE Busk calm cheerful child clouds Coleridge cottage creature dear delight dost doth dwell earth fair fear feel flock flowers FURNESS ABBEY gentle grass grave green happy Hart-Leap HARVARD COLLEGE hath hear heard heart heaven HENRY LILLIE PIERCE hills hour lake lamb Laodamia light living lonely look Lucy Luke Lyrical Ballads maid melancholy mighty mind moon moral morning mountains murmur nature never night o'er Ode to Duty pain Peter Bell pleasure poems poet poetry quiet rock round RYDAL MOUNT Scott seemed shade shepherd sight silent sing Sir Walter sleep song sonnet sorrow soul spake spirit star stone stream summer sweet thee things thou art thought Tintern Abbey trees Twill vale verse voice wandered waters wild wind wood Wordsworth Yarrow youth
Populiarios ištraukos
215 psl. - MILTON ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
146 psl. - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and. beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash...
283 psl. - Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
13 psl. - Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother.
145 psl. - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, ' And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create *, And what perceive...
280 psl. - Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage...
270 psl. - Ah ! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream...
276 psl. - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, 'The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
284 psl. - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind...
85 psl. - Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways, In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.