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Barnabe Barnes beauty Ben Jonson birds blessed blest breath bright Charles Charles Lamb clouds Coleridge dark dead dear death delight divine dost doth dream Drummond earth edition English Sonnets eyes fair fancy fear flowers gentle glory golden grace Grosart hand happy Hartley Coleridge hath heart heaven Henry Reed honour John John Clare John Keats John Milton Keats Leigh Hunt light lines live Lord Lord Houghton Love's memory Milton mind morning Muse Nature never night o'er passion Petrarch Poems poet poet's Poetical poetry praise printed rime rose Samuel Daniel says seems shadow Shakspeare Shakspeare's shine sight silent sing sleep soft song sorrow soul sound Spenser spirit spring star Sunne sweet tears tender thee thine things thou art thought unto verse voice William William Wordsworth wind wings words Wordsworth writing written
Página 30 - Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee,—and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Página 37 - In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by :— This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Página 37 - boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang : In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in resL
Página 209 - 7 TT OW do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. •*••*• I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and
Página 95 - given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; It moves us
Página 413 - This sonnet should be compared with WC Bryant's fine stanzas To a Waterfowl, which conclude— ' He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps
Página 45 - Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; And for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing : For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
Página 424 - Wordsworth's Song- at the Feast of Brougham Castle: • The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.' This and the sonnet given under cCCxx were written not later than February, 1823. They appeared in The London
Página 287 - It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.' parallels. Cp. the beginning of the 2nd Sonnet : ' When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow, And