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Könyvek 132 / 1 - 10. könyv a(z) Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy... kifejezésre.
" 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... "
The poetical works of John Keats - 207. oldal
szerző: John Keats - 1841 - 340 oldal
Teljes nézet - Információ erről a könyvről

The Kaleidoscope: or, Literary and scientific mirror, 1. kötet

1821
..."Wtat are the songs of Spring ? Aye, where are they i Think not of them : thou hast thy music too; Vhik barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn -BIOM the river shallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light...

The Eclectic Review, 14. kötet;32. kötet

William Hendry Stowell - 1820
...laden head across a brook ; Or by a cyder press, with patient look, Thou watchcst the last oozings hours by hours. ' Where are the songs of Spring ?...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 Monthly Review

1820
...brook ; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. III. ' Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they...too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft And full-grown lambs...

Spirit of the English Magazines, 7. kötet

1820
...sof t-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosey hue ; Then in a wailful choir thcsmall goals mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives ordirs : And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn : Hedge crickets sing ; and now with treble...

The English reading book, in verse

William Jillard Hort - 1822 - 212 oldal
...with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? aye, 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...

The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry, 2. kötet

Alaric Alexander Watts - 1829
...laden head across a brook ; Or by a cyder press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring ? Ay,...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...

The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry, 2. kötet

Alaric Alexander Watts - 1829
...laden head across a brook ; Or by a cyder press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring ? Ay,...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...

The Annals of My Village: Being a Calendar of Nature, for Every Month in the ...

Mary Roberts - 1831 - 362 oldal
...Polar regions, the delicious fruits of the torrid zone ? OCTOBER. ' Where are the songs of spring ? Ah, where are they ? Think not of them ; thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds deck the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue." KEATS. THE autumnal heavens are...

The graphic & historical illustrator, ed. by E.W. Brayley

Edward Wedlake Brayley - 1834
...words, the SOUL, is deep and into our hearts of our own decay ; but as poor Keats beautifully sings, Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they...hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue. We have understood, that objects in no fewer...

The Graphic and Historical Illustrator: An Original Miscellany of Literary ...

Edward Wedlake Brayley - 1834 - 416 oldal
...words, the Son., is deep and into our hearts of our own decay ; but as poor KeaU beautifully sings, Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they...hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue. We have understood, that objects in no fewer...




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