 | 1821 - 438 oldal
..."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... | |
 | 1820 - 574 oldal
[ Sajnáljuk, az oldal tartalma korlátozott hozzáférésű. ] | |
 | Ralph Griffiths, George Edward Griffiths - 1820 - 574 oldal
...are they ? Think not of them, thou hast thy music 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 loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The... | |
 | 1820 - 490 oldal
...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... | |
 | 1842 - 622 oldal
...where are they ? But, sober Autumn, thou hast music too— While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ;...now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden croft ; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies." THE superiority of the works of nature... | |
 | William Jillard Hort - 1822 - 234 oldal
...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 :...aloft, Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full grown lambs bleat loud from hilly bourn ; Hedge crickets sing ; and now with treble soft, The... | |
 | John Keats - 1926 - 738 oldal
[ Sajnáljuk, az oldal tartalma korlátozott hozzáférésű. ] | |
 | William Hone - 1826 - 850 oldal
[ Sajnáljuk, az oldal tartalma korlátozott hozzáférésű. ] | |
 | John Keats - 1926 - 730 oldal
[ Sajnáljuk, az oldal tartalma korlátozott hozzáférésű. ] | |
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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... 
