Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and Other EssaysMacmillan and Company, 1874 - 305 страница |
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... thou Sluggard , consider her ways and be wise which , having no guide , overseer , or ruler , pro- videth her meat in the summer , and gathereth her food in the harvest . How long wilt thou sleep , O Sluggard ? when wilt thou arise out ...
... thou Sluggard , consider her ways and be wise which , having no guide , overseer , or ruler , pro- videth her meat in the summer , and gathereth her food in the harvest . How long wilt thou sleep , O Sluggard ? when wilt thou arise out ...
Страница 122
... thou shouldst come , sweet sister mine . Too long denied , too long delaying , come ! The point of one white star is quivering still , Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains . Through a chasm Of wind ...
... thou shouldst come , sweet sister mine . Too long denied , too long delaying , come ! The point of one white star is quivering still , Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains . Through a chasm Of wind ...
Страница 126
... thou smile or weep When my life is laid asleep ? Little cares for a smile or a tear The clay - cold corpse upon the bier . Farewell ! Heigh ho ! What is this whispers low ? There's a snake in thy smile , my dear ; And bitter poison ...
... thou smile or weep When my life is laid asleep ? Little cares for a smile or a tear The clay - cold corpse upon the bier . Farewell ! Heigh ho ! What is this whispers low ? There's a snake in thy smile , my dear ; And bitter poison ...
Страница 136
... thou Life of interminable multitudes , Soul of those mighty spheres Whose changeless paths through Heaven's deep silence lie , Soul of that smallest being ⚫ The dwelling of whose life Is one faint April sun - gleam- Man , like these ...
... thou Life of interminable multitudes , Soul of those mighty spheres Whose changeless paths through Heaven's deep silence lie , Soul of that smallest being ⚫ The dwelling of whose life Is one faint April sun - gleam- Man , like these ...
Страница 141
... thou breath of Autumn's being , Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven , like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing , * * * * * Make me thy lyre , even as the forest is ! What if my leaves are falling like its own ...
... thou breath of Autumn's being , Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven , like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing , * * * * * Make me thy lyre , even as the forest is ! What if my leaves are falling like its own ...
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Aristotle Bacon Baconian theories beauty Burns Byron called character CHARLES KINGSLEY Chaucer circumstance Coleridge concrete consists creation creative critics Dallas delight distinct Dugald Stewart earth Edinburgh Edited England English poetry English poets Essays example expression exquisite eyes fact faculty fancy feeling FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE friends genius habit Hampstead Hampstead Heath hand historical Homer human Hume ideal imagery imitation impassioned incident intellectual Keats kind language Leigh Hunt Lerici less literary literature living London Lord Cockburn lyrical matter meaning metre metrical Milton mode nation nature objects oinois original passages passion peculiar phantasies philosophy phrase physiognomy pleasure poems Poesy poet poetic poetry prose prose-writer pure Quincey rhyme rich scenes Scotchmen Scotland Scott seems sense sensuous Shakespeare Shelley Shelley's Sir William Hamilton song soul speculation Spenser spirit tendency theory things thou thought tion true universe verse whole words Wordsworth writings
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Страница 131 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth...
Страница 278 - Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Страница 131 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Страница 41 - Man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower and is cut down ; he fleeth also as a shadow and continueth not.
Страница 230 - Gently o'er the accustomed oak; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, I woo to hear thy even-song; And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green...
Страница 149 - REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them...
Страница 253 - To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own — Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
Страница 189 - The use of this feigned history hath been to give some shadow of satisfaction to the mind of man in those points wherein the nature of things doth deny it, the world being in proportion inferior to the soul...
Страница 52 - Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room ; And hermits are contented with their cells ; And students with their pensive citadels ; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy ; bees that soar for bloom High as the highest peak of Furness-fells Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells : In truth, the prison unto which we doom Ourselves no prison is...
Страница 51 - Then up I rose, And dragged to earth, both branch and bough with crash And merciless ravage, and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being...