Tennyson: His Art and Relation to Modern LifePutnam, 1894 - 516 psl. |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Tennyson– His Art and Relation to Modern Life, 1 tomas Stopford Augustus Brooke Visos knygos peržiūra - 1894 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
allegory ancient Arthur artist beauty Bedivere belong blank verse Byron character clear comes cries death deep delightful dramatic monologue dream earth emotion England English Enoch Enoch Arden Enone Ettarre faith feeling felt flowers Galahad Gareth Geraint Geraint and Enid Guinevere happy hear heart heaven Holy Grail human Idylls imagination immortal invented Keats kind King Lady of Shalott Lancelot land landscape light Limours lines living Locksley Hall lover Lucretius mankind Maud Memoriam Merlin mind moral Moreover Nature ness never night noble pass passion Pelleas pleasure poem poet poetic poetry Princess Queen Rizpah romance round Sea Fairies sense Shelley song sorrow soul spirit story sweet tale Tenny Tennyson things thou thought thro tion touch Tristram true truth verse vision Vivien voice whole wild wind woman women Wordsworth wrought youth
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478 psl. - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
101 psl. - Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a...
162 psl. - But follow ; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley ; let the wild Lean-headed eagles yelp alone, and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air. So waste not thou, but come ; for all the vales Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee ; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet ; Myriads of rivulets...
123 psl. - All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
242 psl. - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;' And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;' And the lily whispers, 'I wait.
411 psl. - HE clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
126 psl. - The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
486 psl. - I am a part of all that I have met ; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use ! As tho
120 psl. - Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for), but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear ; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
451 psl. - THE baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that " this is I :" But as he grows he gathers much, And learns the use of "I," and "me," And finds "I am not what I see, And other than the things I touch.