One hundred sonnets1851 |
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15 psl.
... pure spirit most out - wells , And drunk , yet was not blinded by the charm , So as to lead my youthful mind astray , Nor for my daily toil unfit my arm , But so has drawn me from the evil way , That even those around me could but say ...
... pure spirit most out - wells , And drunk , yet was not blinded by the charm , So as to lead my youthful mind astray , Nor for my daily toil unfit my arm , But so has drawn me from the evil way , That even those around me could but say ...
16 psl.
... - the beautiful , the pure Strewn by thy hand upon the leaden mass- Is held a paltry , fading garniture ; Unvalued by the sordid crowds that pass , Intent alone to keep their footsteps sure . XII . 1 2 . If ' twere not for 16 SONNETS .
... - the beautiful , the pure Strewn by thy hand upon the leaden mass- Is held a paltry , fading garniture ; Unvalued by the sordid crowds that pass , Intent alone to keep their footsteps sure . XII . 1 2 . If ' twere not for 16 SONNETS .
24 psl.
... pure taste could wish it : -When the light Shrouded it in the mantle of the night , While Echo watched o'er Silence in the grot Where she lay pulseless - We , whose happy lot It was to prove how love and joy unite With the sublime , the ...
... pure taste could wish it : -When the light Shrouded it in the mantle of the night , While Echo watched o'er Silence in the grot Where she lay pulseless - We , whose happy lot It was to prove how love and joy unite With the sublime , the ...
30 psl.
... pure daylight has but seldom broke ! Then crowd the labour - mart , to make more gold For men who deem us but as so much clay That they have power and privilege to mould To selfish purposes , -then cast away : Such is the fate of most ...
... pure daylight has but seldom broke ! Then crowd the labour - mart , to make more gold For men who deem us but as so much clay That they have power and privilege to mould To selfish purposes , -then cast away : Such is the fate of most ...
35 psl.
Henry Frank Lott. XXX . CAMPBELL'S FUNERAL . Inurned is Byron's heart - pure Shelley's brain , The ocean that he loved so , quenched its fire- Southey , Keats , Coleridge sleep ; and now retire Campbell's last relics to yon holy fane ...
Henry Frank Lott. XXX . CAMPBELL'S FUNERAL . Inurned is Byron's heart - pure Shelley's brain , The ocean that he loved so , quenched its fire- Southey , Keats , Coleridge sleep ; and now retire Campbell's last relics to yon holy fane ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
aught band beauteous beauty behold bird blessing breast breath bright bring brow calm charm cheer daily dark dear deem deep delight dost dream dwell early earth elevate fading fair falls false Fancy fate fears feel flowers gaze Gives gleam half hand happy hath head hear heart Heaven held hold holy hope hour human humble HUNDRED keep labour land leads light lips LONDON lone memory mind morn Mother Muse Nature night o'er passed passion path peace pleased poet poet's pride pure renew rest round scenes seek seems sense sentiment Shine simple sleep smile song SONNETS soon sorrow soul sound spirit Spring stand strain sublime sweet sympathy tears temples tender thee thine thou thought throng thy spirit toil tones truth unto vale voice warm wild wing worth wrought youthful
Populiarios ištraukos
30 psl. - As age accumulates upon thy brow, And all thine energies become less warm, Securely rest on my more vigorous arm, Time the protectorship reverses now. If, by God's blessing, health and strength allow, My toil shall comfort thee ; secure from harm, No dread of want thy last days shall alarm, Nor workhouse insolence thy spirit bow.
30 psl. - God's blessing, health and strength allow, My toil shall comfort thee ; secure from harm, No dread of want thy last days shall alarm, Nor workhouse insolence thy spirit bow. Mother, though dim thine eye, yet many a day, While blithe I sported, didst thou toil for me Along no path of flowers, but a rude way, Beset with hardship and with poverty.
28 psl. - Warm from my bosom in a gushing flood My best affections still to thee incline ; Thy breast has been to me a holy shrine Where love unselfish, glowing gratitude, With all that makes us kind, or leaves us good, In one unchanging sentiment combine. I hold naught dearer than thy power to bless, As o'er the varied scenes of life I rove Not e'en the warm impassionate caress Meeting or parting with the maid I love : A mother's love ! while I such boon possess, I scarce would change my state with saints...
7 psl. - Withjoy,that thou thy watchdidst safely keep. Samaritan of life ! with pitying smile, When tired nature fails upon the road, Thou giv'st thy blessing to the sons of toil, Loos'ning the bandage of their wearying load : Though gold may win it not by chaffering wile, Unasked upon contentment 'tis bestowed.
28 psl. - I. Mother ! thou know'st how truly I am thine By ties of sympathy as well as blood ; Warm from my bosom, in a gushing flood, My best affections still to thee incline ; Thy breast has been to me a holy shrine, Where love unselfish, glowing gratitude, With all that makes us kind, or leaves us good, In one unchanging sentiment combine. I hold naught dearer than thy power to bless, As o'er the varied scenes of life I rove Not e'en the warm, impassionate caress, Meeting or parting with the maid I...
29 psl. - ... Untiring, eager, generous, and true, Thy tenderness did with my years keep pace, Seeking all sorrow from my brow to chase, And holding truth and virtue up to view. Thanks ! grateful thanks ! I have not all deserved, I plead me guilty to a wayward will ; Tet thou didst chide so mildly when I swerved, That 1 returned to love thee better still ; Thy warning counsel has my spirit nerved, And proved an antidote to many an ill. As age accumulates upon thy brow, And all thine energies become less warm,...
80 psl. - ... movings of the Muse's powers ? Nay. For the sunlight that gilds up the towers Of princes in the sheltered lane reveals The beauty of the primrose, and unseals Phials of fragrance in the violet's bowers. For Poetry can glad, illume, sustain, And dignify the humblest heart she sways : And though the world the trifles may disdain, Still dear unto the Poet are his lays. And whoso seeketh shall not seek in vain, For joys abundant in her pleasant ways.