The Works and Life of Walter Savage Landor: Miscellaneous poems: Collection of 1846. Last fruit off an old tree. Dry sticks. Additional poems. Criticisms: Idyls of Theocritus. Poems of Catullus. Francesco PetrarcaChapman and Hall, 1876 - 4 psl. |
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xxi psl.
... Spring : she comes , Hasten , O hasten , poet mine Hast thou forgotten , thou more vile · Have I not seen thee , little hoof , before Have I , this moment , led thee from the beach Hearts must not sink at seeing Law lie dead ...
... Spring : she comes , Hasten , O hasten , poet mine Hast thou forgotten , thou more vile · Have I not seen thee , little hoof , before Have I , this moment , led thee from the beach Hearts must not sink at seeing Law lie dead ...
xxii psl.
... spring , ere roses took I near the back of Life's dim stage I never knew but one who died for love , pp . 281 1Ο 336 9 145 53 331 • 130 198 347 5 163 · 265 268 121 54 II 143 342 . 189 68 183 187 269 22 12 · 95 130 124 80 278 • 96 12 62 ...
... spring , ere roses took I near the back of Life's dim stage I never knew but one who died for love , pp . 281 1Ο 336 9 145 53 331 • 130 198 347 5 163 · 265 268 121 54 II 143 342 . 189 68 183 187 269 22 12 · 95 130 124 80 278 • 96 12 62 ...
xxiii psl.
... spring and summer winds may blow " Instead of idling half my hours In summer when the sun's mad horses pass In the odour of sanctity Miriam abounds , In vain he beats his brow who thinks . In verse alone I ran not wild In wrath a youth ...
... spring and summer winds may blow " Instead of idling half my hours In summer when the sun's mad horses pass In the odour of sanctity Miriam abounds , In vain he beats his brow who thinks . In verse alone I ran not wild In wrath a youth ...
xxvii psl.
... spring I sate One pansy , one , she bore beneath her breast , One tooth has Mummius ; but in sooth One year ago my path was green , Only one poet in the worst of days On the smooth brow and clustering hair Onward , right onward ...
... spring I sate One pansy , one , she bore beneath her breast , One tooth has Mummius ; but in sooth One year ago my path was green , Only one poet in the worst of days On the smooth brow and clustering hair Onward , right onward ...
xxxi psl.
... springs a spark of truth Thou hast been very tender to the moon , pp . 80 278 . 227 82 348 347 • 327 10 . 289 290 325 294 • 276 338 335 232 4 57 185 184 74 325 • 246 316 136 Thou hast not lost all glory , Rome ! Thou hast not rais'd ...
... springs a spark of truth Thou hast been very tender to the moon , pp . 80 278 . 227 82 348 347 • 327 10 . 289 290 325 294 • 276 338 335 232 4 57 185 184 74 325 • 246 316 136 Thou hast not lost all glory , Rome ! Thou hast not rais'd ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Altho Amid art thou Avignon beauty bend beneath birds blest Boccaccio bosom brave breast breath bright brow call'd CARMEN Catullus Cicero cried crown dare death earth Eclogues eyes fate father fear flowers fond gentle girl glory graceful grave grief Gunlaug hair hand hast thou hath head hear heard heart heaven hexameters hope hour Ianthe Ianthe's IDYL Italy JULIUS HARE leave Leigh Hunt Lesbia light live look lookt maid maiden Milton morn Muse Nereids never o'er once Ovid Petrarca Pindar poem poet poetry praise priest Propertius proud pure Rafen rais'd rest rise Rome rose round shade shine sigh sing sleep smile song soon soul spring sweet tears tell tender thee Theocritus thine thou art thou hast thought thro Tibullus trochee twas Vaucluse verses Virgil voice wing wish words youth
Populiarios ištraukos
52 psl. - ROSE AYLMER AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
393 psl. - And the swink'd hedger at his supper sat ; I saw them under a green mantling vine, That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
41 psl. - tis and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely, and all die (Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart) Among their kindred in their native place. I never pluck the rose ; the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank And not reproacht me ; the ever-sacred cup Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold.
8 psl. - Past ruin'd Ilion Helen lives, Alcestis rises from the shades; Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse that gives Immortal youth to mortal maids. Soon shall Oblivion's deepening veil Hide all the peopled hills you see, The gay, the proud, while lovers hail These many summers you and me.
338 psl. - WELL I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea-sand— 'O! what a child! You think you're writing upon stone ! ' I have since written what no tide Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide And find lanthe's name again.
40 psl. - ... precipitate Spring with one light bound Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires, And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night...
56 psl. - And intermarried and brancht off awide), She threw herself upon her couch, and wept ; On this side hung her head, and over that Listlessly she let fall the faithless brass That made the men as faithless. But when you Found them, or fancied them, and would not hear That they were only vestiges of smiles, Or the impression of some amorous hair Astray from cloistered curls and roseat band, Which had been lying there all night perhaps Upon a skin so soft . . . No, no...
388 psl. - For where no hope is left, is left no fear : If there be worse, the expectation more Of worse torments me than the feeling can. I would be at the worst, worst is my port, My harbour, and my ultimate repose ; The end I would attain, my final good.
270 psl. - Alas, how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover ! And how much narrower is the stage Allotted us to play the sage ! But when we play the fool, how wide, $ The theatre expands ! beside, How long the audience sits before us! How many prompters ! what a chorus...
23 psl. - PROUD word you never spoke, but you will speak Four not exempt from pride some future day. Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek Over my open volume you will say,