The uncompleted edition of Wither's poems, ed. by J.M. Gutch. 4 vols, 2. kötet

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166. oldal - By a daisy whose leaves spread Shut when Titan goes to bed ; Or a shady bush or tree, She could more infuse in me, Than all Nature's beauties can, In some other wiser man.
146. oldal - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
145. oldal - WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
166. oldal - Some things that may sweeten gladness, In the very gall of sadness. The dull loneness, the black shade, That these hanging vaults have made, The strange music of the waves, Beating on these hollow caves, This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss : The rude portals that give light More to Terror than Delight : This my chamber of Neglect, Wall'd about with Disrespect ; From all these and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and...
297. oldal - I feel not in myself those common antipathies that I can discover in others : those national repugnances do not touch me, nor do I behold with prejudice the French, Italian, Spaniard, or Dutch...
145. oldal - When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When...
167. oldal - Though thou be to them a scorn That to nought but earth are born, Let my life no longer be Than I am in love with thee : Though our wise ones call...
167. oldal - Beating on these hollow caves; This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
65. oldal - I FIRST adventure, with fool-hardy might, To tread the steps of perilous despite. I first adventure, follow me who list, And be the second English satirist.
165. oldal - Wer't in mortal's power to do.) She doth tell me where to borrow Comfort in the midst of sorrow ; Makes the desolatest place To her presence be a grace ; And the blackest discontents Be her fairest ornaments.

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