Red-letter Poems by English Men and WomenT. Y. Crowell, 1885 - 648 psl. |
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4 psl.
... sweet weale one only hoape hath stayed my life apart , Which doth perswade such words unto my sored mynde , Maintaine thy selfe , O wofull wight , some better luck to find . For though thou be deprived from thy desired sight Who can ...
... sweet weale one only hoape hath stayed my life apart , Which doth perswade such words unto my sored mynde , Maintaine thy selfe , O wofull wight , some better luck to find . For though thou be deprived from thy desired sight Who can ...
7 psl.
... sweet , all is not sound . Give me a looke , give me a face , That makes simplicitie a grace ; Robes loosely flowing , haire as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me , Than all th ' adulteries of art , That strike mine eyes , but not ...
... sweet , all is not sound . Give me a looke , give me a face , That makes simplicitie a grace ; Robes loosely flowing , haire as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me , Than all th ' adulteries of art , That strike mine eyes , but not ...
10 psl.
... sweet they were , That they perfum'd the place . I of a shrub of those inquir'd , From others of that kind , Who with such virtue them inspir'd ? It answer'd ( to my mind ) : " As the base hemlock were we such , The poisoned'st weed ...
... sweet they were , That they perfum'd the place . I of a shrub of those inquir'd , From others of that kind , Who with such virtue them inspir'd ? It answer'd ( to my mind ) : " As the base hemlock were we such , The poisoned'st weed ...
15 psl.
... sweet eye Consists my life , my hope , my victory . Sweet Woodstock , where my Rosamond doth rest , Be blest in her , in whom thy king is blest : For though in France awhile my body be , My heart remains ( dear paradise ) in thee ...
... sweet eye Consists my life , my hope , my victory . Sweet Woodstock , where my Rosamond doth rest , Be blest in her , in whom thy king is blest : For though in France awhile my body be , My heart remains ( dear paradise ) in thee ...
16 psl.
... SWEET bird , that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past , or coming , void of care , Well pleased with delights which pres- ent are , Fair seasons , budding sprays , sweet- smelling flowers : To rocks , to springs , to rills ...
... SWEET bird , that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past , or coming , void of care , Well pleased with delights which pres- ent are , Fair seasons , budding sprays , sweet- smelling flowers : To rocks , to springs , to rills ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Red Letter Poems by English Men and Women (Classic Reprint) Thomas Young Crowell Peržiūra negalima - 2016 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
art thou beauty beneath bless blest blow born bosom breast breath bright brow Camelot Charles Dickens charms cheek Childe Harold clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae friends glory green hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour King Lady Lady of Shalott land leaves light lips live look Lord Lord Lytton lyre maid moon morn ne'er never night nymph o'er pain pale poems praise pride rills rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh sing Sir Walter Scott sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree Twas voice Washington Irving wave weary weep wild William Shakespeare William Wordsworth wind wings youth
Populiarios ištraukos
475 psl. - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown ; Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
420 psl. - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
454 psl. - I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, — And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise, and unbuild it again.
65 psl. - Go, LOVELY rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee! — How...
477 psl. - LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been, Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told, That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared...
280 psl. - Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, — To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
438 psl. - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
319 psl. - But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air burst into life ! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about ! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge ; And the rain poured down from one black cloud ; 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...
45 psl. - Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished ; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
59 psl. - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame : Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee ; O, my love, my love is young ! Age, I do defy thee ; O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st...