Mit mondanak mások - Írjon ismertetőt
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American poet beautiful beneath binding shoes birds bless bloom blue born boss boughs bowers breath breeze bright bucket child Childhood clouds dark dead deep delight doth dream earth eyes fair fancies fear feel Felicia Dorothea Hemans flow flowers grass green happy hath haunted spring hear heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hill Holly Tree HYMN James Russell Lowell John Keble lamb leaves light live loud lover merry morning mountain murmur Nathaniel Parker Willis nest never night Nightingale o'er poems poetry river round Samuel Lover Samuel Taylor Coleridge shade shine silent silver sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound stars stream summer sweet thee There's thine things Thomas Hood thou dost thought to-morrow vale verse Vincent Bourne voice wandering waves wild William Blake William Cullen Bryant William Wordsworth willow wind wings woods youth
171. oldal - Slowly and sadly we laid him down From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
79. oldal - Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean,...
88. oldal - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
8. oldal - Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown . For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed...
118. oldal - A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers, lined choicely for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw, and ivy buds, With coral clasps, and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
73. oldal - QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space, to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st...
12. oldal - 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.
13. oldal - We have not wings, we cannot soar ; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.
88. oldal - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.