The English Poets, Том 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 |
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Стр. 10
... hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of beaver ? Or swan's down ever ? Or have smelt o ' the bud o ' the briar ? Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white , -O so soft , -O so sweet is she ! TRUTH ...
... hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of beaver ? Or swan's down ever ? Or have smelt o ' the bud o ' the briar ? Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white , -O so soft , -O so sweet is she ! TRUTH ...
Стр. 18
... HATH LEFT US . [ Printed by Gifford in Underwoods , but really from the First Folio edition of Shakspeare , 1623. ] To draw no envy , Shakspeare , on thy name , Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; While I confess thy writings to be ...
... HATH LEFT US . [ Printed by Gifford in Underwoods , but really from the First Folio edition of Shakspeare , 1623. ] To draw no envy , Shakspeare , on thy name , Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; While I confess thy writings to be ...
Стр. 20
... stage , Which , since thy flight from hence , hath mourned like night , And despairs day but for thy volume's light . 1 That he that man . = EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE1 . [ From Underwoods 20 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... stage , Which , since thy flight from hence , hath mourned like night , And despairs day but for thy volume's light . 1 That he that man . = EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE1 . [ From Underwoods 20 THE ENGLISH POETS .
Стр. 27
... hath amused the world some thousand years . Poesy is not a thing that is yet in the finding and search , or which may be other- wise found out . ' Such is the mature view of Drummond ; the view of a man who has read the best that the ...
... hath amused the world some thousand years . Poesy is not a thing that is yet in the finding and search , or which may be other- wise found out . ' Such is the mature view of Drummond ; the view of a man who has read the best that the ...
Стр. 30
... hath torments all the night , And heart spends sighs , when Phoebus brings the light . Why should I been a partner of the light , Who , crost in birth by bad aspects of stars , Have never since had happy day nor night ? Why was not I a ...
... hath torments all the night , And heart spends sighs , when Phoebus brings the light . Why should I been a partner of the light , Who , crost in birth by bad aspects of stars , Have never since had happy day nor night ? Why was not I a ...
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Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw crown death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson King Lady light live Lord lost Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise reign rose sacred shade shalt shepherds shine sighs sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep winds wings write youth
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Стр. 311 - And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Стр. 348 - Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ? Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide ; To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
Стр. 10 - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Стр. 333 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Стр. 214 - 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. 174 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Стр. 450 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.
Стр. 297 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Стр. 353 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.
Стр. 320 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (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. But not the praise...