Друга издања - Прикажи све
Palgrave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics. Book Third
Francis Turner Palgrave,J. H. Fowler
Приказ није доступан - 2017
Abbott absence adieu anapaest Anon beauty beauty's birds blow Book breath bridal day Bullen cæsura Campion couplet Cupid Cymbeline death dost doth Drummond Earl earth Elizabethan Elizabethan poets Elizabethan Song-Books end my song English poetry eyes F. T. Palgrave Faerie Queene fair feet flowers Golden Pomp Golden Treasury grief heaven Heigh Henry hey nonny nonny iambic King kiss lips love's Love's Labour's Lost lover lyric Madrigal meaning Metre Michael Macmillan Midsummer Night's Dream Milton misprision mortal never Night nightingale participle passion play poem Richard II Rosaline roses run softly Say nay sense sewed Shakespeare SHAKESPEARE'S Sonnets Shepherd Sidney sing sorrow soul Spenser Spring stanza summer's sung Sweet Thames syllable Tereus thee thine thou art thought Time's trochaic trochee true-love hath Twelfth Night untrue Love verb verse W. T. Webb wanton Weep whilst wind word Wyat Wyndham youth
Страница 25 - Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
Страница 2 - SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
Страница 4 - Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i...
Страница 118 - Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a : A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.
Страница 103 - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chaunt it : it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Страница 12 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Страница 33 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...
Страница 36 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Страница 87 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright.