The book of poetry [ed. by B.G. Johns].E. Lumley, 1847 - 186 páginas |
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Página 10
... sorrow in thy song , No winter in thy year . Oh , could I fly , I'd fly with thee ! We'd make with joyful wing Our annual visit o'er the globe , Companions of the Spring . LOGAN . FATHER WILLIAM . " You are old , Father William , " the ...
... sorrow in thy song , No winter in thy year . Oh , could I fly , I'd fly with thee ! We'd make with joyful wing Our annual visit o'er the globe , Companions of the Spring . LOGAN . FATHER WILLIAM . " You are old , Father William , " the ...
Página 14
... sorrow proved . And here he hung his horn and spear ; And oft , as evening fell , In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell . SPENCER . INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG . On his morning rounds the master ...
... sorrow proved . And here he hung his horn and spear ; And oft , as evening fell , In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell . SPENCER . INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG . On his morning rounds the master ...
Página 24
... sorrow , And at my window bid good morrow , Through the sweet - brier , or the vine , Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock , with lively din , Scatters th ' rear of darkness thin ; And to the stack , or the barn - door , Stoutly ...
... sorrow , And at my window bid good morrow , Through the sweet - brier , or the vine , Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock , with lively din , Scatters th ' rear of darkness thin ; And to the stack , or the barn - door , Stoutly ...
Página 30
... sorrow ! " For she knew that her son was dead . She knew it by the falconer's words , And from the look of the falconer's eye ; And from the love which was in her soul For her youthful Romilly . Young Romilly through Barden woods Is ...
... sorrow ! " For she knew that her son was dead . She knew it by the falconer's words , And from the look of the falconer's eye ; And from the love which was in her soul For her youthful Romilly . Young Romilly through Barden woods Is ...
Página 31
... sorrow : Wharf shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow . If for a lover the lady wept , A solace she might borrow From Death and from the passion of Death , — Old Wharf might heal her sorrow . She weeps not for the ...
... sorrow : Wharf shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow . If for a lover the lady wept , A solace she might borrow From Death and from the passion of Death , — Old Wharf might heal her sorrow . She weeps not for the ...
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Termos e frases comuns
beauty behold bells beneath bowers breast breath bright Caledonia CASABIANCA charms cheerful clouds cried Cumnor Hall dark dead death deep doth dread E'en earth eyes fair falchion Father William fear flowers Gelert gentle glory grave green green days Grongar Hill hand hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill HOHENLINDEN hope HYMN King Henry land light LLEWELLYN lonely look look'd Lord Lycidas Mayenne Milford Bay morn mourn murmur never night o'er pass'd Plymouth Bay pomp porringer praise pray round S. T. COLERIDGE shade sight silent sing Skiddaw skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound sound of music spirit spring star stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought village voice wave weep wild wind wings woods young youth
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 116 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor...
Página 28 - Sweet smiling village ! loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green ! One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Página 119 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and...
Página 120 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Página 34 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Página 134 - I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly : thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.
Página 26 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Página 65 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they, I pray you tell?
Página 28 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Página 73 - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow, On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave ! And charge with all thy chivalry...