The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 4. kötetLongman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 1827 |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 26 találatból.
17. oldal
... pain , Is spotless , and holy , and gentle , and bright ; And glides o'er the earth like an angel of light . Pass , pass who will , yon chantry door ; And , through the chink in the fractured floor . Look down , and see a griesly sight ...
... pain , Is spotless , and holy , and gentle , and bright ; And glides o'er the earth like an angel of light . Pass , pass who will , yon chantry door ; And , through the chink in the fractured floor . Look down , and see a griesly sight ...
29. oldal
... painful part ; Be thou then satisfied in heart ! A further , though far easier , task Than thine hath been , my duties ask ; With theirs my efforts cannot blend , I cannot for such cause contend ; Their aims I utterly forswear ; But I ...
... painful part ; Be thou then satisfied in heart ! A further , though far easier , task Than thine hath been , my duties ask ; With theirs my efforts cannot blend , I cannot for such cause contend ; Their aims I utterly forswear ; But I ...
45. oldal
... pain , Fell on him , with the sudden thought Of her by whom the work was wrought : — Oh wherefore was her countenance bright With love divine and gentle light ? 24 She did in passiveness obey , But her Faith leaned CANTO III . 45 OF ...
... pain , Fell on him , with the sudden thought Of her by whom the work was wrought : — Oh wherefore was her countenance bright With love divine and gentle light ? 24 She did in passiveness obey , But her Faith leaned CANTO III . 45 OF ...
50. oldal
... pain , or fear ? A soft and lulling sound is heard Of streams inaudible by day ; The garden pool's dark surface , stirred By the night insects in their play , Breaks into dimples small and bright ; A thousand , thousand rings of light ...
... pain , or fear ? A soft and lulling sound is heard Of streams inaudible by day ; The garden pool's dark surface , stirred By the night insects in their play , Breaks into dimples small and bright ; A thousand , thousand rings of light ...
54. oldal
... cause or for that ; All efforts that would turn aside The headstrong current of their fate : Her duty is to stand and wait ; In resignation to abide The shock , AND FINALLY SECURE O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF 54 CANTO IV . THE WHITE DOE.
... cause or for that ; All efforts that would turn aside The headstrong current of their fate : Her duty is to stand and wait ; In resignation to abide The shock , AND FINALLY SECURE O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF 54 CANTO IV . THE WHITE DOE.
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Banner Barden Fell Barden Tower beautiful behold beneath bless Bolton Bolton Abbey bowers brave breast breath bright calm Canute cheer Child city of Durham Coniston Creature curacy dark dear deep delight doth Duddon earth Emily endeavour fair fear feelings flowers Francis Friend gentle gliding grace grave green hand happy hath hear heard heart Heaven hill holy honour hope human Isle of Walney Lady language live lonely look Lord Loweswater Maid metre mind morning mortal Mother mountain murmur nature Norton o'er passion peace pleasure Poem Poet Poetry prayer Reader River RIVER DUDDON Robert Walker rocks round Rylstone Seathwaite side sigh sight silent Simon rouse sing smooth solitude song Sonnets sorrow soul spirit spread stand stood sweet tears thee things thou thought Tower Trajan trees Ulpha vale voice Wharf whence White Doe wind youth
Népszerű szakaszok
350. oldal - Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
213. oldal - I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
360. oldal - Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language ; because in that condition of life our elementary feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more accurately contemplated, and more forcibly communicated...
352. oldal - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
294. oldal - The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
350. oldal - See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral...
347. oldal - As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong...
333. oldal - So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; A deep distress hath humanised my Soul.
367. oldal - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
367. oldal - ... that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to the metre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be strictly the language of prose when prose is well written. The truth of this assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poetical writings, even of Milton himself.