The World's Best Poetry ...John Vance Cheney, Sir Charles G. D. Roberts, Charles Francis Richardson, Francis Hovey Stoddard, John Raymond Howard J. D. Morris, 1904 |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 100 találatból.
1. oldal
... Sonnet . M. DRAYTON . There's not a wind but whispers of thy name . Mirandola . B. W. PROCTER . Short absence hurt him more , And made his wound far greater than before ; Absence not long enough to root out quite All love , increases ...
... Sonnet . M. DRAYTON . There's not a wind but whispers of thy name . Mirandola . B. W. PROCTER . Short absence hurt him more , And made his wound far greater than before ; Absence not long enough to root out quite All love , increases ...
4. oldal
... Sonnet LXX . SHAKESPEARE . A native grace Sat fair - proportioned in her polished limbs , Veiled in a simple robe their best attire , Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament , But is , when ...
... Sonnet LXX . SHAKESPEARE . A native grace Sat fair - proportioned in her polished limbs , Veiled in a simple robe their best attire , Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament , But is , when ...
4. oldal
... Sonnet LXX . SHAKESPEARE . A native grace Sat fair - proportioned in her polished limbs , Veiled in a simple robe their best attire , Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament , But is , when ...
... Sonnet LXX . SHAKESPEARE . A native grace Sat fair - proportioned in her polished limbs , Veiled in a simple robe their best attire , Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament , But is , when ...
22. oldal
... Sonnet IX . Το P. H. HAYNE . The desire of the moth for the star , Of the night for the morrow , The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow . : One word is too often profaned . P. B. SHELLEY . I held it truth , with ...
... Sonnet IX . Το P. H. HAYNE . The desire of the moth for the star , Of the night for the morrow , The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow . : One word is too often profaned . P. B. SHELLEY . I held it truth , with ...
40. oldal
... Sonnet XXXV . W. WORDSWORTH . Who will not mercie unto others show , How can he mercie ever hope to have ? Faerie Queene , Bk . VI . Whene'er I take my walks abroad , How many poor I see ! What shall I render to my God For all his gifts ...
... Sonnet XXXV . W. WORDSWORTH . Who will not mercie unto others show , How can he mercie ever hope to have ? Faerie Queene , Bk . VI . Whene'er I take my walks abroad , How many poor I see ! What shall I render to my God For all his gifts ...
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
A. C. Swinburne Anonymous beauty Boston Brooks C. S. Calverley Canto Childe Harold Clergyman clouds COWPER dear Death Don Juan doth Dramatist Dream DRYDEN earth England Epistle Essay fair Fairies faith Fame Farewell flower fools Friendship grave H. W. LONGFELLOW Hamlet hath heart Heaven HOUGHTON Hudibras Hymn Ireland J. G. Whittier J. R. LOWELL JOHN Journalist Julius Cæsar King Henry King Richard Lady land light live LORD BYRON Macbeth Merchant of Venice MIFFLIN MILTON MOORE morning ne'er never Night Thoughts o'er P. B. SHELLEY P. J. BAILEY Paradise Lost poet poetry POPE Publishers rose S. T. Coleridge Scotland SHAKESPEARE sleep Song Sonnet soul Summer sweet T. B. Aldrich TENNYSON thee things THOMAS THOMSON thou Trans Translation truth viii W. C. Bryant WILLIAM wind WORDSWORTH York YOUNG
Népszerű szakaszok
5. oldal - Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.
51. oldal - Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further.
lix. oldal - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities.
63. oldal - Dis's wagon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
97. oldal - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law, but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
15. oldal - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
118. oldal - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.
116. oldal - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
95. oldal - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
lii. oldal - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?