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" She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of... "
Travellers Joy - Página 111
editado por - 1906 - 319 páginas
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Lyrical Ballads,: With Other Poems. In Two Volumes, Volume 1

William Wordsworth - 1800
...Man, The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listen'd to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own, My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve...whene'er I sing The Songs, that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful Air, I sang an old and moving Story — An old rude Song that fitted well...
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Lyrical Ballads,: With Other Poems. In Two Volumes, Volume 1

William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1800
...Man, The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listen'd to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own, My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er 1 sing The Songs, that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful Air, I sang an old and moving Story...
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Lyrical Ballads: With Pastoral and Other Poems, in Two Volumes, Volume 1

William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1802 - 250 páginas
...! The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listen'd to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own, My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve...whene'er I sing The Songs, that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful Air, I sang an old and moving Story — An old rude Song that fitted well...
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Lyrical Ballads: With Pastoral and Other Poems

William Wordsworth - 1802 - 234 páginas
...Man, The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listen'd to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own,' My Hope, my Joy, my...whene'er I sing The Songs, that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful Air, I sang an old and moving Story—- An old rude Song that fitted well...
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Lyrical ballads, with other poems [including some by S.T. Coleridge]. From ...

William Wordsworth - 1802
...blended with the Lights of Eve-, And she was there, my Hope, my Joy, My own dear Genevieve! ' . Few sorrows hath she of her own,. My Hope! my Joy! my...best, whene'er I sing The Songs, that make her grieve. Iplay'da soft and doleful Air, I.sang an old and moving Story— An old rude Song that fitted .well...
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Lyrical Ballads,: With Pastoral and Other Poems. In Two Volumes, Volume 1

William Wordsworth - 1805
...Man, The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listened to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own, My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve...an old and moving Story — An old rude Song that fitted well The Ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting Blush, With downcast Eyes and modest...
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Lyrical Ballads, with Pastoral and Other Poems ...

William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1805 - 248 páginas
...Man, The Statue of the Armed Knight : She stood and listened to my Harp Amid the ling'ring Light. Few Sorrows hath she of her own, My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve ! She loves me bast, whene'er I sing The Songs, that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful Air, I sang an old...
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Blackwood's Magazine, Volume 6

1820
...man, The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listen'd to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own. My hope ! my joy ! my...whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story— An old rude song, that suited well...
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Sibylline Leaves: A Collection of Poems

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1817 - 303 páginas
...The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listen'd to my lay, Amid the lingering light. / Few sorrows hath she 'of her own, My hope! my- joy! my...whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that suited well...
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Sibylline Leaves: A Collection of Poems

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1817 - 303 páginas
...my joy! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story...An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild arid hoary. She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; For well she knew,...
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