Poets on PoetsLady Strachey (Jane Maria) K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & Company, Limited, 1894 - 324 páginas |
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Página 14
... tears to shed . December . AND for I was in thilke same looser years , ( Whether the Muse so wrought me from my birth , Or I too much believed my shepherd peers , ) Some deal ybent to song and musick's mirth , A good old shepherd ...
... tears to shed . December . AND for I was in thilke same looser years , ( Whether the Muse so wrought me from my birth , Or I too much believed my shepherd peers , ) Some deal ybent to song and musick's mirth , A good old shepherd ...
Página 28
... the fairest Phaer That ever ventured on great Virgil's works ? To Watson , worthy many epitaphs For his sweet poesy , for Amyntas ' tears And joys so well set down ? And after thee Why hie they not , unhappy in thine end , 28 PEELE .
... the fairest Phaer That ever ventured on great Virgil's works ? To Watson , worthy many epitaphs For his sweet poesy , for Amyntas ' tears And joys so well set down ? And after thee Why hie they not , unhappy in thine end , 28 PEELE .
Página 29
... tears , And the nymphs go tear their hairs ; Marlowe . Bid the scholars leave their reading , And prepare their BRETON . 29.
... tears , And the nymphs go tear their hairs ; Marlowe . Bid the scholars leave their reading , And prepare their BRETON . 29.
Página 47
... tear the love - sick myrtle from his brows , To adorn his temples with deservèd boughs . The strongest marble fears the smallest rain ; The rusting canker eats the purest gold . Honour's best dye dreads envy's blackest stain ; The ...
... tear the love - sick myrtle from his brows , To adorn his temples with deservèd boughs . The strongest marble fears the smallest rain ; The rusting canker eats the purest gold . Honour's best dye dreads envy's blackest stain ; The ...
Página 79
... tears Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad , Then laughing at our fear ; abused and glad To be abused ; affected with that truth Which we perceive is false , pleased in that ruth At which we start , and by elaborate play ...
... tears Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad , Then laughing at our fear ; abused and glad To be abused ; affected with that truth Which we perceive is false , pleased in that ruth At which we start , and by elaborate play ...
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Termos e frases comuns
Adonais bard Beaumont Beaumont and Fletcher beauty Ben Jonson bold breath bright Burns Byron call'd charm Chaucer Coleridge Cowley dead dear death delight dost doth Drayton Dryden earth English envy eternal Euripides eyes fair fame fancy fear fire Fletcher flowers genius gentle glory Gondibert grace grave grief Grongar Hill hast hath hear heart heaven Hero and Leander honour immortal John Fletcher Jonson Keats Landor laurel Leigh Hunt light live lyre Maid's Tragedy mighty Milton mind mourn Muse ne'er never night noble numbers o'er passion poem poesy poet poet's poetry Pope praise rage rimes sacred scene Scott shade Shake Shakespeare Shelley shepherds Sidney sing smile soft song Sonnet soul Southey speare Spenser spirit stars strain sweet taught tears thee thine thou thought tongue truth tuneful verse voice Waller weep wild Wordsworth worth writ youth
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 260 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Página 72 - Ah BEN! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Página 299 - Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems and new!
Página 254 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep — He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.
Página 78 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Página 158 - To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face : the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms and smiled. ' This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of joy l Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
Página 258 - Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind. Break it not thou ! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become?
Página 103 - That Majesty which through thy Work doth Reign Draws the Devout, deterring the Profane. And things divine thou treat'st of in such state As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. At once delight and horror on us seize, Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease; And above human flight dost soar aloft With Plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. The Bird nam'd from that Paradise you sing So never flags, but always keeps on Wing.
Página 209 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear : Those days are gone — but beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy...
Página 224 - John Keats, who was killed off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak. Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.