Popular Poets of the Period: Being a Volume Containing Biographical & Critical Sketches of the Careers of Poets of Our Own Time and Country, Together with Choice Selections from Their WorksGriffith, Farran, Okeden, and Welsh, 1889 - 376 psl. |
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xvii psl.
... seems probable that , owing to increased education and culture , future times will see an increased number of persons writing verse of even a high class ; though we can hardly join seriously in Mr. Traill's humorous expectation of the ...
... seems probable that , owing to increased education and culture , future times will see an increased number of persons writing verse of even a high class ; though we can hardly join seriously in Mr. Traill's humorous expectation of the ...
xix psl.
... great and grievous defect of the Italian language . That rule , therefore , which the Italians have established , of exactly four different sounds in the sonnet , seems to have arisen from their wish INTRODUCTION . xix .
... great and grievous defect of the Italian language . That rule , therefore , which the Italians have established , of exactly four different sounds in the sonnet , seems to have arisen from their wish INTRODUCTION . xix .
xx psl.
... seems to have arisen from their wish to have as many , not from any dread of finding more . But surely it is ridiculous to make the defect of a foreign language a reason for our not availing ourselves of one of the marked excellences of ...
... seems to have arisen from their wish to have as many , not from any dread of finding more . But surely it is ridiculous to make the defect of a foreign language a reason for our not availing ourselves of one of the marked excellences of ...
22 psl.
... seem to dance with delight , As the prow of our barque they so joyously lave . As our oars cleave their way , see the bright drops of spray , How they change into sapphires , and sink in the wave ; And downward they go , to the bright ...
... seem to dance with delight , As the prow of our barque they so joyously lave . As our oars cleave their way , see the bright drops of spray , How they change into sapphires , and sink in the wave ; And downward they go , to the bright ...
23 psl.
... Seem to glitter and gleam in her silvery light . Oh ! how happy are we , as the waves of the sea , Softly rock us to rest , in a dream of delight ; And our boat glides along , whilst sweet music and song , Seem to fall like a charm on ...
... Seem to glitter and gleam in her silvery light . Oh ! how happy are we , as the waves of the sea , Softly rock us to rest , in a dream of delight ; And our boat glides along , whilst sweet music and song , Seem to fall like a charm on ...
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ALEXANDER H Andrew Lang auld burnside Ballads beautiful bird blue born breast breath bright captain's gig Charles Mackay charming Clement Scott Clink College critic dark dead dear death deep delight dramatic dream earth English eyes fair fancy father feel flowers genius gleam golden grace hand hast hath heart heaven hills King kiss land Lewis Morris light lips literary literature lives London Lord Lord Tennyson lover Lurlei lyric Magazine never night o'er once passed poems poet poetic poetry prose published rose round sestet shadow shine shore sing Sir Edwin Arnold skies sleep smile soft song sonnet sorrow soul sound stars sweet tears Tennyson thee Theodore Watts thine thou thought touch Twas vers de société verse voice volume W. E. FORSTER waves wild WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT wind words writings young
Populiarios ištraukos
287 psl. - Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; And some through wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
285 psl. - Thy voice is on the rolling air ; I hear thee where the waters run ; Thou standest in the rising sun. And in the setting thou art fair.
288 psl. - O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
231 psl. - WHERE sunless rivers weep Their waves into the deep, She sleeps a charmed sleep : Awake her not. Led by a single star, She came from very far To seek where shadows are Her pleasant lot. She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs. Through sleep, as through a veil She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings. Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast ; Her face is toward the west, The purple land. She cannot...
285 psl. - Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
193 psl. - The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels — "But give me your sun from yonder skies!" They had answered, "And afterward, what else?
222 psl. - Bring none of these ; but let me be, While all around in silence lies, Moved to the window near, and see Once more, before my dying eyes, Bathed in the sacred dews of morn The wide aerial landscape spread — The world which was ere I was born, The world which lasts when I am dead...
286 psl. - Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words...
221 psl. - Mark'd thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare, Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air — But, when they came from bathing, thou wert...
339 psl. - tis the lullaby Time is singing — Hush, and heed not, for all things pass, Hush, ah, hush! and the Scythes are swinging Over the clover, over the grass ! — Andrew Lang.