A household book of English poetry, selected with notes by R.C. TrenchRichard Chenevix Trench (abp. of Dublin) 1868 |
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Стр. v
... the case , that of more than three hundred pieces which compose this volume , less than seventy have appeared in his . And it is easy to perceive how this should be . His is a Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems.
... the case , that of more than three hundred pieces which compose this volume , less than seventy have appeared in his . And it is easy to perceive how this should be . His is a Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems.
Стр. vii
... - missed ; nor has it been a little pleasure to draw from obscure retreats , or from retreats only familiar to those who have made English poetry more or less of a special study , and acquainted themselves with its bye ways no Preface .
... - missed ; nor has it been a little pleasure to draw from obscure retreats , or from retreats only familiar to those who have made English poetry more or less of a special study , and acquainted themselves with its bye ways no Preface .
Стр. viii
... less than its high ways , poems which little merit the oblivion into which they had fallen . I have called this volume a Household Book of English Poetry , by this name implying that it is a book for all , that there is nothing in it to ...
... less than its high ways , poems which little merit the oblivion into which they had fallen . I have called this volume a Household Book of English Poetry , by this name implying that it is a book for all , that there is nothing in it to ...
Стр. ix
... less true of other poets out of number . I have nowhere given extracts from larger poems , but only poems which may be regarded as complete in them- selves . It is true that I have sometimes made room for such as , through their length ...
... less true of other poets out of number . I have nowhere given extracts from larger poems , but only poems which may be regarded as complete in them- selves . It is true that I have sometimes made room for such as , through their length ...
Стр. x
... less in the Ode on the Death of Mrs. Killigrew , finds it hard , indeed impossible , to deal anything approaching to justice to Dryden , or by specimens which are at his command to afford any true representation of the range of his ...
... less in the Ode on the Death of Mrs. Killigrew , finds it hard , indeed impossible , to deal anything approaching to justice to Dryden , or by specimens which are at his command to afford any true representation of the range of his ...
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Alfred Tennyson Ambrose Philips Anon beauty Ben Jonson beneath bird bonnie braes breast breath bright busk cloth clouds crown dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth English English Poetry eyes fair fame fancy fear flowers glory golden grace grave gray green grief hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven Henry Vaughan honour hope hour John Milton King light lines live look Lord Lycidas mind morn mother mourn Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er pale peace Percy Bysshe Shelley pleasure poem poet poetry praise rose Samuel Taylor Coleridge shade shine sigh sing sleep smile song SONNET sorrow soul spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought trees voice weep wild William Davenant William Shakespeare William Wordsworth wind woods Yarrow youth ΙΟ
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Стр. 215 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came : nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Стр. 286 - Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Стр. 215 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Стр. 250 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Стр. 273 - Of all this unintelligible world. Is lightened:— that serene and blessed mood. In which the affections gently lead us on.— Until. the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended. we are laid asleep In body. and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony. and the deep power of joy. We see into the life of things.
Стр. 345 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Стр. 144 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.
Стр. 381 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Стр. 51 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Стр. 32 - Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, '° When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes: Now if thou would'st, when all have given...