The Leading English Poets from Chaucer to BrowningHoughton Mifflin, 1915 - 918 oldal |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 100 találatból.
xxiii. oldal
... past misdeeds . As a poet Byron was supremely gifted . Through his own intense individuality he caught a universal spirit of his time , the spirit of dissatisfaction and revolt , and embodied it in imagina- tive forms . Byron was a ...
... past misdeeds . As a poet Byron was supremely gifted . Through his own intense individuality he caught a universal spirit of his time , the spirit of dissatisfaction and revolt , and embodied it in imagina- tive forms . Byron was a ...
39. oldal
... past : true is , that true love hath no powre To looken backe ; his eies be fixt before . Before her stands her knight , for whom she toyld so sore . XXXI Much like as when the beaten marinere , That long hath wandred in the ocean wide ...
... past : true is , that true love hath no powre To looken backe ; his eies be fixt before . Before her stands her knight , for whom she toyld so sore . XXXI Much like as when the beaten marinere , That long hath wandred in the ocean wide ...
47. oldal
... past , And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care , Into new woes unweeting I was cast By this false faytor , who unworthie ware His worthie shield , whom he with guilefull snare rest them call . XLIV Now whenas darkesome Night had all ...
... past , And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care , Into new woes unweeting I was cast By this false faytor , who unworthie ware His worthie shield , whom he with guilefull snare rest them call . XLIV Now whenas darkesome Night had all ...
48. oldal
... past ; their griefe is with them gone : Ne yet of present perill be affraid : For needlesse feare did never vantage none , And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone . Dead is Sansfoy , his vitall paines are past , Though greeved ghost ...
... past ; their griefe is with them gone : Ne yet of present perill be affraid : For needlesse feare did never vantage none , And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone . Dead is Sansfoy , his vitall paines are past , Though greeved ghost ...
60. oldal
... past , and come now to the plaine . XXXIV The better part now of the lingring day They traveild had , whenas they far espide A weary wight forwandring by the way , And towards him they gan in hast to ride , To weete of newes that did ...
... past , and come now to the plaine . XXXIV The better part now of the lingring day They traveild had , whenas they far espide A weary wight forwandring by the way , And towards him they gan in hast to ride , To weete of newes that did ...
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Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
The Leading English Poets from Chaucer to Browning: Edited, with ... Lucius Hudson Holt Nincs elérhető előnézet - 2017 |
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Archimago arms beauty beneath blood breast breath bright brow Camelot cloud courser Dæmons dark dead dear death deep doth dread dream earth Elfin knight eyes face fair fear fire flowers Gareth Gawain gaze gentle glory grace grone Guinevere hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill holy hope hour King King Arthur lady Lady of Shalott Lancelot Lavaine leave light live look lord maid mighty mind mordre morning never night nymph o'er once Oxus pain pass Publ Queen rest rose round Rustum Samian wine seem'd sing Sir Lancelot sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spake spirit star stept stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro trew unto voice wave weene wild wind wings words wyde youth Zuleika
Népszerű szakaszok
118. oldal - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
333. oldal - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
580. oldal - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
567. oldal - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
534. oldal - It struggles and howls at fits; Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream...
306. oldal - My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes.
774. oldal - The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace, — all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech.
118. oldal - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
745. oldal - And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur...
134. oldal - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days ; But, the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.