Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier Houghton, Mifflin, 1890 - 383 psl. |
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9 psl.
... soft trembling voices made To the instruments divine respondence meet ; The silver sounding instruments did meet With the base murmur of the water's fall : The water's fall with difference discreet , Now soft , now loud , unto the wind ...
... soft trembling voices made To the instruments divine respondence meet ; The silver sounding instruments did meet With the base murmur of the water's fall : The water's fall with difference discreet , Now soft , now loud , unto the wind ...
11 psl.
... soft side the first did issue make ; She tastes all places , turns to every hand , Her flowery banks unwilling to for- sake . Yet Nature so her streams doth lead and carry , As that her course doth make no final stay , Till she herself ...
... soft side the first did issue make ; She tastes all places , turns to every hand , Her flowery banks unwilling to for- sake . Yet Nature so her streams doth lead and carry , As that her course doth make no final stay , Till she herself ...
26 psl.
... soft ; mount , larks , aloft , To give my love good - morrow . Wings from the wind to please her mind , Notes from the lark I ' ll borrow ; Bird , prune thy wing ; nightingale , sing , To give my love good - morrow . Wake from thy nest ...
... soft ; mount , larks , aloft , To give my love good - morrow . Wings from the wind to please her mind , Notes from the lark I ' ll borrow ; Bird , prune thy wing ; nightingale , sing , To give my love good - morrow . Wake from thy nest ...
28 psl.
... soft drum , Beats my approach , tells thee I come : And slow howe'er my marches be , I shall at last sit down by thee . The thought of this bids me go on , And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort . Dear , forgive The crime , I am ...
... soft drum , Beats my approach , tells thee I come : And slow howe'er my marches be , I shall at last sit down by thee . The thought of this bids me go on , And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort . Dear , forgive The crime , I am ...
30 psl.
... Soft silken hours , Open suns , shady bowers ; ' Bove all , nothing within that lowers . Days , that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore - spent night of sorrow : Days , that in spite Of darkness , by the light Of a ...
... Soft silken hours , Open suns , shady bowers ; ' Bove all , nothing within that lowers . Days , that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore - spent night of sorrow : Days , that in spite Of darkness , by the light Of a ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
angel beauty bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie breast breath bright brow busk calm cheek Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth Edom evermore eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hope hour Inchcape Rock Jackdaw JOHN KEATS Kilmeny kissed lady land lassie light lips live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun morning never night o'er pale praise prayer rest river Lee rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree vale voice wandering waves weary ween weep wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings Yarrow
Populiarios ištraukos
17 psl. - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
17 psl. - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
18 psl. - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be.
202 psl. - Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells.' How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
99 psl. - I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A Poet could not but...
99 psl. - The clouds that gather round the setting sun 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.
18 psl. - Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
153 psl. - 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. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
61 psl. - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
187 psl. - rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart : He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.