Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - Всего страниц: 352 |
Результаты поиска по книге
Результаты 1 – 5 из 80
Стр. 4
... FACE that should content me wondrous well , Should not be fair , but lovely to behold With gladsome cheer , all grief for to ex- pel ; With sober looks so would I that it should Speak without words , such words as none can tell ; The ...
... FACE that should content me wondrous well , Should not be fair , but lovely to behold With gladsome cheer , all grief for to ex- pel ; With sober looks so would I that it should Speak without words , such words as none can tell ; The ...
Стр. 6
... face ! What may it be , that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure , if that long with love acquainted eyes Can judge of love , thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks , thy languished grace ...
... face ! What may it be , that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure , if that long with love acquainted eyes Can judge of love , thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks , thy languished grace ...
Стр. 7
... face ; The lineaments of gospel books : I trow that countenance cannot lie Whose thoughts are legible in the eye . Above all others this is he Who erst approved in his song , That love and honor might agree , And that pure love will do ...
... face ; The lineaments of gospel books : I trow that countenance cannot lie Whose thoughts are legible in the eye . Above all others this is he Who erst approved in his song , That love and honor might agree , And that pure love will do ...
Стр. 8
... face , that seems more fair The more they on it stare ; But her sad eyes , still fastened on the ground , Are governed with goodly modesty , That suffers not one look to glance awry , Which may let in a little thought un- sound . Why ...
... face , that seems more fair The more they on it stare ; But her sad eyes , still fastened on the ground , Are governed with goodly modesty , That suffers not one look to glance awry , Which may let in a little thought un- sound . Why ...
Стр. 19
... face , That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing , hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me , Than all the adulteries of art , That strike mine eyes , but not my heart . HOW NEAR TO GOOD IS WHAT IS FAIR ! How near to ...
... face , That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing , hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me , Than all the adulteries of art , That strike mine eyes , but not my heart . HOW NEAR TO GOOD IS WHAT IS FAIR ! How near to ...
Содержание
187 | |
197 | |
203 | |
219 | |
225 | |
231 | |
237 | |
240 | |
45 | |
51 | |
57 | |
63 | |
67 | |
73 | |
79 | |
85 | |
93 | |
97 | |
103 | |
117 | |
123 | |
126 | |
135 | |
142 | |
149 | |
153 | |
162 | |
168 | |
179 | |
246 | |
252 | |
258 | |
260 | |
270 | |
271 | |
276 | |
283 | |
288 | |
297 | |
303 | |
313 | |
319 | |
325 | |
331 | |
337 | |
345 | |
346 | |
347 | |
Другие издания - Просмотреть все
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
Популярные отрывки
Стр. 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Стр. 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Стр. 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Стр. 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Стр. 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Стр. 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Стр. 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Стр. 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Стр. 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Стр. 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!