The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language |
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Страница 14
Sleep is a reconciling , A rest that peace begets : - Doth not the sun rise smiling , When fair at even he sets ? -Rest you , then , rest , sad eyes ! Melt not in weeping ! While She lies sleeping Softly , now softly lies , Sleeping !
Sleep is a reconciling , A rest that peace begets : - Doth not the sun rise smiling , When fair at even he sets ? -Rest you , then , rest , sad eyes ! Melt not in weeping ! While She lies sleeping Softly , now softly lies , Sleeping !
Страница 18
Sir T. Wyat XXIX TO AURORA O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm , And dost prejudge thy bliss , and spoil my rest ; Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast And thy relenting heart would kindly warm .
Sir T. Wyat XXIX TO AURORA O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm , And dost prejudge thy bliss , and spoil my rest ; Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast And thy relenting heart would kindly warm .
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... Bare ruin'd 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 rest : In ...
... Bare ruin'd 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 rest : In ...
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... blithe IIelen , and the rest , To hear the stories of thy finish'd love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights , Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make , Of tourneys ...
... blithe IIelen , and the rest , To hear the stories of thy finish'd love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights , Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make , Of tourneys ...
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Within mine eyes he makes his nest , His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast , And yet he robs me of my rest : Ah ! wanton , will ye ? And if I sleep , then percheth he With pretty flight , And makes his pillow ...
Within mine eyes he makes his nest , His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast , And yet he robs me of my rest : Ah ! wanton , will ye ? And if I sleep , then percheth he With pretty flight , And makes his pillow ...
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Arethuse beauty beneath birds bonnie bower breast breath bright Brignall brow cheek clouds County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA eyes F. T. PALGRAVE fair Fancy fear flowers frae FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE gentle glory golden Gray green H. F. Lyte happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill kiss leaves light live look'd Lord Lord Byron Love's Lycidas lyre LYRICAL maid mind morn mountains Muse ne'er never night Nymph o'er P. B. Shelley pale passion Pindar pleasure poem Poetry poets rose round seem'd shade Shakespeare sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit Spring star stream sweet tears tell thee There's thine thou art thought tree Twas voice waly waly waves weep white-thorn wild winds wings Wordsworth Yarrow youth