Guy's learner's poetic task book, a selection from the modern British poets

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76. oldal - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
19. oldal - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood...
80. oldal - I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew ; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
82. oldal - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
42. oldal - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
42. oldal - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave...
51. oldal - 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.
18. oldal - 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.
62. oldal - The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.
80. oldal - Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew ; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat...

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