PoemsEdward Moxon, 1833 - 163 страница |
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... Sweet as the noise in parched plains Of bubbling wells that fret the stones , ( If any sense in me remains ) Thy words will be ; thy cheerful tones As welcome to my crumbling bones . BUONAPARTE . He thought to quell the stubborn hearts ...
... Sweet as the noise in parched plains Of bubbling wells that fret the stones , ( If any sense in me remains ) Thy words will be ; thy cheerful tones As welcome to my crumbling bones . BUONAPARTE . He thought to quell the stubborn hearts ...
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... Sweet ! How can'st thou let me waste my youth in sighs ? I only ask to sit beside thy feet . Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes . Might I but kiss thy hand ! I dare not fold My arms about thee - scarcely dare to speak . And ...
... Sweet ! How can'st thou let me waste my youth in sighs ? I only ask to sit beside thy feet . Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes . Might I but kiss thy hand ! I dare not fold My arms about thee - scarcely dare to speak . And ...
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... sweet wife , That we may die the selfsame day . V. My father's mansion , mounted high , Looked down upon the village - spire . I was a long and listless boy , And son and heir unto the squire . In these dear walls , where I and you Have ...
... sweet wife , That we may die the selfsame day . V. My father's mansion , mounted high , Looked down upon the village - spire . I was a long and listless boy , And son and heir unto the squire . In these dear walls , where I and you Have ...
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... sweet ! which true love spells— True love interprets right alone ; For o'er each letter broods and dwells , ( Like light from running waters thrown On flowery swaths ) the blissful flame Of his sweet eyes , that , day and night , With ...
... sweet ! which true love spells— True love interprets right alone ; For o'er each letter broods and dwells , ( Like light from running waters thrown On flowery swaths ) the blissful flame Of his sweet eyes , that , day and night , With ...
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... Sweet gales , as from deep gardens , blow Before him , striking on my brow . In my dry brain my spirit soon , Downdeepening from swoon to swoon , Faints like a dazzled morning moon . IV . The wind sounds like a silver wire , And from ...
... Sweet gales , as from deep gardens , blow Before him , striking on my brow . In my dry brain my spirit soon , Downdeepening from swoon to swoon , Faints like a dazzled morning moon . IV . The wind sounds like a silver wire , And from ...
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Ambrosial Aphrodite April skies beauty beneath blazoned blue bold breath bright brow burning call me early charmèd cheek cowslip cuckooflower dark darkblue daughter Dear mother Ida death deep delight divine dream Earl was fair Eleänore Enone ere I die evermore eyes face fall Father Hesper fire flame flash floating flower foam folded Ganymede glad Newyear gleaming golden apple green hath hear heard hearken ere heart hill hollow holy Kate kiss Lady of Shalott land lawn leaning light lips look Lotos Love-forgotten and love-forlorn Madonna mignonette moon morn mourn night o'er PALACE OF ART Queen ripen Rolled Rosalind rosy round Sang shadow shore sing sleep slope slowly smile song SONNET sorrow soul sound stars stood stream sweet tall tears thee thine thou thought thro toil towered Camelot tree voice wander wave weary weep whisper wild wind Ye'll
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Страница 108 - moon ; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. II. A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, Slowdropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; And some thro' wavering- lights and shadows broke, Kolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming
Страница 15 - Sang Sir Launcelot. She left the web : she left the loom : She made three paces thro' the room : She saw the waterflower bloom : She saw the helmet and the plume : She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web, and floated wide, The mirror cracked from side to side, " The curse is come upon me,
Страница 12 - And sometimes thro' the mirror blue, The knights come riding-, two and two. She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights : For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from
Страница 15 - bloom : She saw the helmet and the plume : She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web, and floated wide, The mirror cracked from side to side, " The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. PART THE FOURTH. In the stormy eastwind straining The pale-yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Страница 109 - mountain clefts the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale ; A land where all things always seemed the same I And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mildeyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.
Страница 108 - This mounting' wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land, In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Страница 111 - the emeraldcoloured water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine ! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the pine. The Lotos blooms below the flowery peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek : All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone
Страница 94 - be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be NEWYEAR'S EVE. IF you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad Newyear. It is the last Newyear that I shall ever see, Then
Страница 97 - never see me more in the long gray fields at When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool, On the oatgrass and the swordgrass, and the bulrush in the pool. Ye'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And ye'll come sometimes and see me where I
Страница 111 - The Lotos blooms below the flowery peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek : All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos dust is blown. We have had enough of