Specimens of the Early English Poets: To which is Prefixed, an Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the English Poetry and Language,Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1811 |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 30 találatból.
28. oldal
... sense , Condemn what is our excellence . The air , immortal souls , the skies , The angels in their hierarchies , Unseen , to all things seen dispense Breath , life , protection , influence . Our high conceptions crave a mind From earth ...
... sense , Condemn what is our excellence . The air , immortal souls , the skies , The angels in their hierarchies , Unseen , to all things seen dispense Breath , life , protection , influence . Our high conceptions crave a mind From earth ...
45. oldal
... ? " These eyes again thine eyes shall see , " And hands again these hands infold ; " And all chaste pleasures can be told " Shall with us everlasting be . " For if no use of sense remain 66 * EDWARD LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 45.
... ? " These eyes again thine eyes shall see , " And hands again these hands infold ; " And all chaste pleasures can be told " Shall with us everlasting be . " For if no use of sense remain 66 * EDWARD LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 45.
46. oldal
... sense remain 66 * " When bodies once this life forsake , " Or they could no delight partake , Why should they ever rise again ? * * * * * " Let then no doubt , Celinda , touch , " Much less your fairest mind invade : " Were not our ...
... sense remain 66 * " When bodies once this life forsake , " Or they could no delight partake , Why should they ever rise again ? * * * * * " Let then no doubt , Celinda , touch , " Much less your fairest mind invade : " Were not our ...
78. oldal
... sense in sin that lowers . What soul can be so sick , which by thy songs Attir'd in sweetness sweetly is not driven Quite to forget earth's turmoils , spites , and wrongs , And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven ? Sweet artless ...
... sense in sin that lowers . What soul can be so sick , which by thy songs Attir'd in sweetness sweetly is not driven Quite to forget earth's turmoils , spites , and wrongs , And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven ? Sweet artless ...
79. oldal
... senses light , mind's perspective 3 kept blind , Now like imagin'd landscape in the air , And weeping rainbows her best joys I find : Or if ought here is had that praise should have , It is an obscure life and silent grave . * " fast ...
... senses light , mind's perspective 3 kept blind , Now like imagin'd landscape in the air , And weeping rainbows her best joys I find : Or if ought here is had that praise should have , It is an obscure life and silent grave . * " fast ...
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Admet ALPHEUS FELCH Anon Beaumont and Fletcher beauty beauty's Biographia Dramatica birds born breast breath Carew Castara chaste Chloris Corpus Christi College court Cupid dear death delight died disdain dost doth earth Edgar Atheling English Exeter College extracted eyes fair fancy fate fear flame Fletcher flowers folly FRANCIS BEAUMONT GILES FLETCHER grace grief happy hath hear heart heaven honour John Hall joys king kiss Laius language leave lips live lord lov'd Love's Love's cruelty lover maid MATTHEW STEVENSON melancholy mind miscellany mistress morning Muses ne'er never night nymph o'er Oxford passion Phillis Picts pleasure poems poet poetry praise pride printed reign rose Saxon says Wood scorn sighs sing smile SONG SONNET sorrow soul spring stanzas star sweet taste tears tell thee thine thing thou art thought unto wanton weep Whilst wind wings youth
Népszerű szakaszok
244. oldal - WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
31. oldal - Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, To give my Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow.
278. oldal - 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.
275. oldal - 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.
277. oldal - Prison 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.
194. oldal - Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied. That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, — How...
132. 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.
85. oldal - I how great she be? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair! If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve! If she slight me, when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go! For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?
222. oldal - Now the bright Morning Star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
63. oldal - Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan, These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.