The Household Book of PoetryCharles Anderson Dana D. Appleton, 1890 - Всего страниц: 862 |
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Стр. xiv
... Mind to me a Kingdom is .. Mystic Trumpeter , The . Night .... No More . Nothing New under the Sun .. Ode Bards of Passion ... Ode - Intimations of Immortality Ode on a Grecian Urn . Ode on Solitude .. Ode to an Indian Gold Coin . Ode ...
... Mind to me a Kingdom is .. Mystic Trumpeter , The . Night .... No More . Nothing New under the Sun .. Ode Bards of Passion ... Ode - Intimations of Immortality Ode on a Grecian Urn . Ode on Solitude .. Ode to an Indian Gold Coin . Ode ...
Стр. 12
... mind , Notes from the lark I'll borrow : Bird , prune thy wing ; nightingale , sing , To give my love good - morrow . To give my love good - morrow , Notes from them all I'll borrow . Wake from thy nest , robin redbreast , Sing , birds ...
... mind , Notes from the lark I'll borrow : Bird , prune thy wing ; nightingale , sing , To give my love good - morrow . To give my love good - morrow , Notes from them all I'll borrow . Wake from thy nest , robin redbreast , Sing , birds ...
Стр. 45
... mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness . The mind , that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates , transcending these , Far other worlds and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made ...
... mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness . The mind , that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates , transcending these , Far other worlds and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made ...
Стр. 48
... mind ; And while , to shade my lowly cave , Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; And while the maple dish is mine , The beechen cup , unstained with wine , I scorn the gay licentious crowd , Nor heed the toys that deck the proud ...
... mind ; And while , to shade my lowly cave , Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; And while the maple dish is mine , The beechen cup , unstained with wine , I scorn the gay licentious crowd , Nor heed the toys that deck the proud ...
Стр. 62
... mind not , musing on her , That her heart was all untrue ! I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain , And my heart's quick pulses vibrate To the patter of the rain . Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with ...
... mind not , musing on her , That her heart was all untrue ! I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain , And my heart's quick pulses vibrate To the patter of the rain . Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with ...
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19th Century ALFRED TENNYSON beauty beneath Binnorie birds blue bonny Born Bouillabaisse breast breath bright brow cheek child cloud dark dead dear death deep died doth dream earth England eyes face fair fear flowers friends gentle golden grave gray green hair hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven heir of Linne HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hill king kiss lady land leaves light lips live look Lord maid merry milldams moon morning ne'er never night o'er PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ROBERT HERRICK rose round Scotland shine sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit Spring stars stream summer sweet tears tell thee thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought tree Twas unto voice waves weep wild WILLIAM WILLIAM MOTHERWELL WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings woods Yarrow young Beichan
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Стр. 247 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life ; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Стр. 164 - 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...
Стр. 665 - Now - now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells Of the bells Of...
Стр. 614 - mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song...
Стр. 615 - And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.
Стр. 779 - The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages.
Стр. 643 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.
Стр. 619 - The upper air burst into life ! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side : Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide.
Стр. 110 - Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me : Rise, oh ever rise ! Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to Heaven, Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
Стр. 86 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease; For summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor...