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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xiii psl.
... thee Page 142 273 61 242 230 236 277 191 269 18 316 342 116 163 278 265 189 17 255 366 271 205 211 367 352 102 III 350 275 40 61 328 264 261 150 68 217 183 51 13 19 254 118 14 301 282 155 42 94 Page Have they told you I am going 114 He ...
... thee Page 142 273 61 242 230 236 277 191 269 18 316 342 116 163 278 265 189 17 255 366 271 205 211 367 352 102 III 350 275 40 61 328 264 261 150 68 217 183 51 13 19 254 118 14 301 282 155 42 94 Page Have they told you I am going 114 He ...
xiv psl.
... thee Hush , friend and foe ! no more his name .... I am known to my friends as " The Moderate Man I am pacing the Mall in a rapt reverie I built a castle in the air ........ I'd " read " three hours . Both notes and text I drew the ...
... thee Hush , friend and foe ! no more his name .... I am known to my friends as " The Moderate Man I am pacing the Mall in a rapt reverie I built a castle in the air ........ I'd " read " three hours . Both notes and text I drew the ...
xv psl.
... thee 331 Sing for the garish eye Soft the firelight shines around her Soft , through the vale , the evening zephyrs sigh .. So , it has really come at last ...... Someone has said a whispered word to me Statesman , philospher , and bard ...
... thee 331 Sing for the garish eye Soft the firelight shines around her Soft , through the vale , the evening zephyrs sigh .. So , it has really come at last ...... Someone has said a whispered word to me Statesman , philospher , and bard ...
xvi psl.
... Thee Lord , who art my God Wild waves dashing with a weary motion ...... With all my will , but much against my heart Worship was a holy maid Would I were Erin's apple - blossom o'er you Yon silvery billows breaking on the beach You ...
... Thee Lord , who art my God Wild waves dashing with a weary motion ...... With all my will , but much against my heart Worship was a holy maid Would I were Erin's apple - blossom o'er you Yon silvery billows breaking on the beach You ...
xix psl.
... thee Is firm as Ailsa rock ; Rush on with Highland sword and targe , I , with my Carrick spearmen , charge ; Now , forward to the shock ! ' At once the spears were forward thrown , Against the sun the broadswords shone ; The pibroch ...
... thee Is firm as Ailsa rock ; Rush on with Highland sword and targe , I , with my Carrick spearmen , charge ; Now , forward to the shock ! ' At once the spears were forward thrown , Against the sun the broadswords shone ; The pibroch ...
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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.