The Blue Poetry BookAndrew Lang Longmans, Green & Company, 1896 - 264 oldal |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 23 találatból.
viii. oldal
... Leaves The Pilgrim The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk The Eve of St. John Leader Haughs Epitaph on a Hare E. A. Poe · • 130 130 J. Hogg W. Shakespeare 131 W. J. Mickle P. B. Shelley R. Barnfield E. A. Poe T. Nashe Lord Macaulay Sir W ...
... Leaves The Pilgrim The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk The Eve of St. John Leader Haughs Epitaph on a Hare E. A. Poe · • 130 130 J. Hogg W. Shakespeare 131 W. J. Mickle P. B. Shelley R. Barnfield E. A. Poe T. Nashe Lord Macaulay Sir W ...
41. oldal
... slew . ' Now must I teach to hew the beech , The hand that held the glaive , For leaves to spread our lowly bed , And stakes to fence our cave . ' And for vest of pall , thy fingers small To Flush , my Dog 41 Alice Brand.
... slew . ' Now must I teach to hew the beech , The hand that held the glaive , For leaves to spread our lowly bed , And stakes to fence our cave . ' And for vest of pall , thy fingers small To Flush , my Dog 41 Alice Brand.
57. oldal
... 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 wither'd and strown . For the Angel of Death spread his ...
... 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 wither'd and strown . For the Angel of Death spread his ...
62. oldal
... leaves , where we May read how soon things have Their end , though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride , Like you , a while they glide Into the grave . Proud Maisie R. HERRICK . PROUD Maisie is in the wood , Walking ...
... leaves , where we May read how soon things have Their end , though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride , Like you , a while they glide Into the grave . Proud Maisie R. HERRICK . PROUD Maisie is in the wood , Walking ...
63. oldal
... sound of the cool colonnade ! The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves , Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives . Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Sleep 63 Sir P Sidney Sir W Scott W Cowper.
... sound of the cool colonnade ! The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves , Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives . Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Sleep 63 Sir P Sidney Sir W Scott W Cowper.
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Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Allen-a-Dale Annabel Lee auld Robin Gray beautiful beneath birds blood bold bower brave bonny lasse breast breath bright bright eyes brow Buccleuch Cherry Ripe Christabel cloud County Guy cried Cumnor dead dear deep doth dream eyes fair fear fire flowers forest frae gallant grave gray green hair hand hast hath Hazeldean Headless Cross hear heard heart heaven Henry of Navarre hill holy King Kinmont Kinmont Willie lady land light live lonely look look'd Lord loud Lycidas maid maiden Mary Ambree merry moon morn ne'er never night o'er Otterbourne poems rose round sails SCOTT shee ship sigh sing Sir Patrick Spens skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound sung sweet tears tell thee thou art thought Twas vale voice waves weary weep wild wind wings wood Yarrow
Népszerű szakaszok
204. oldal - One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
62. oldal - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
69. oldal - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet...
132. oldal - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, 250 BOOK FOURTH.
65. oldal - Going to the Wars TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True; a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
202. oldal - Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton, here may...
31. oldal - At length, upon the harp, with glee, Mingled with arch simplicity, A soft, yet lively, air she rung, While thus the wily lady sung : LOCHINVAR. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
26. 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. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
128. oldal - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
203. oldal - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...