English Language and Literary Criticism: English poetryPotter, 1882 |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 42
Страница 22
... thee was a house built Ere thou wast born ; For thee was a mould shaped Ere thou of mother camest . Its height is not determined , Nor its depth measured , Nor is it yet seen How long it shall be , Until I bring thee 22 ENGLISH LITERATURE .
... thee was a house built Ere thou wast born ; For thee was a mould shaped Ere thou of mother camest . Its height is not determined , Nor its depth measured , Nor is it yet seen How long it shall be , Until I bring thee 22 ENGLISH LITERATURE .
Страница 23
... thee , And the earth's sod . Thy house is not Built highly : It is un - high and low . When thou art in it The ... thee . Thus thou art laid And leavest thy friends . Thou hast no friend That will come to thee , That will ever ask How ...
... thee , And the earth's sod . Thy house is not Built highly : It is un - high and low . When thou art in it The ... thee . Thus thou art laid And leavest thy friends . Thou hast no friend That will come to thee , That will ever ask How ...
Страница 43
... thee either soul or life . " " Love not thy children out of wit ; Trust to them , and helpless sit ! " Dances , carols , summer games , — Of many such come many shames . " One of the latest works of this period , and one wherein the ...
... thee either soul or life . " " Love not thy children out of wit ; Trust to them , and helpless sit ! " Dances , carols , summer games , — Of many such come many shames . " One of the latest works of this period , and one wherein the ...
Страница 75
... thee ? " Playful she turned , that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she marked how mournfully His eyes met hers , that smile was gone ; And bursting into heartfelt tears , " Yes , yes , " she cried , " my ...
... thee ? " Playful she turned , that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she marked how mournfully His eyes met hers , that smile was gone ; And bursting into heartfelt tears , " Yes , yes , " she cried , " my ...
Страница 76
... thee , hear thee , call thee mine , - Oh , misery ! must I lose that too ? Yet go - on peril's brink we meet ; — Those frightful rocks - that treacherous sea- No , never come again - though sweet , Though heaven , it may be death to thee ...
... thee , hear thee , call thee mine , - Oh , misery ! must I lose that too ? Yet go - on peril's brink we meet ; — Those frightful rocks - that treacherous sea- No , never come again - though sweet , Though heaven , it may be death to thee ...
Чести термини и фразе
Absalom and Achitophel allegory ancient Anglo-Saxon ballads beauty Ben Jonson blank verse Byron called Canterbury Tales Canto century character Chaucer comedy critic death delight didactic doth drama dream Dryden eclogue Edition England English language English Literature English Poetry epic eyes Faerie Queene fair fancy flowers French genius hath Hazlitt heart heaven hero Hudibras humor hymns imagination imitation John John Dryden King lady language legend literary live Lord Lycidas manner merit Milton Mirror for Magistrates nature never night o'er Paradise Lost passages passion pastoral play pleasure poem poet poetical Pope popular prose published queen reader rhyme romances satire says scene Shakspeare Shakspeare's sing song soul Spenser spirit stanzas story student style sweet Taine Tale thee things thou thought tion tragedy translation Trouvères verse versification wonderful words writing written
Популарни одломци
Страница 386 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me : — ' Pipe a song about a lamb : ' So I piped with merry cheer. ' Piper, pipe that song again : ' So I piped ; he wept to hear.
Страница 359 - Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Страница 545 - IT WAS many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Страница 313 - Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
Страница 375 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Страница 460 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Страница 544 - or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door — Darkness there and nothing more.
Страница 348 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow, When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Страница 332 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints.
Страница 346 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...