Little Classics: Poems, lyricalRossiter Johnson J.R. Osgood, 1875 |
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... flower , the germs of death and genius ripen toward the tomb ; And earth each day , as some fond face at parting , gains a graver grace . There's not a flower , there's not a tree in this old garden where we sit , But that some fragrant ...
... flower , the germs of death and genius ripen toward the tomb ; And earth each day , as some fond face at parting , gains a graver grace . There's not a flower , there's not a tree in this old garden where we sit , But that some fragrant ...
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... flowers , Once more the lawn where first we talked of future years in twilight hours , Arose ; once more she seemed to pass before me in the -waving grass To that old terrace ; her bright hair about her warm neck all undone , And waving ...
... flowers , Once more the lawn where first we talked of future years in twilight hours , Arose ; once more she seemed to pass before me in the -waving grass To that old terrace ; her bright hair about her warm neck all undone , And waving ...
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... flower , with the selfsame thought , that touched us My passion deepened hour by hour , until to that fierce heat ' t was wrought , Which , shrivelling over every nerve , crumbled the out- works of reserve . I told her then , in that ...
... flower , with the selfsame thought , that touched us My passion deepened hour by hour , until to that fierce heat ' t was wrought , Which , shrivelling over every nerve , crumbled the out- works of reserve . I told her then , in that ...
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... flowers were , Thy work her beauty was but thine ; the human less than the divine . My life hath been one search for thee ' mid thorns found red with thy dear blood : In many a dark Gethsemane I seemed to stand where thou hadst stood ...
... flowers were , Thy work her beauty was but thine ; the human less than the divine . My life hath been one search for thee ' mid thorns found red with thy dear blood : In many a dark Gethsemane I seemed to stand where thou hadst stood ...
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... flower of seas whose hunger- ing waters heave and press Against the planets and the sides of night , -mute , yearning , mystic tides ! To ease the heart with song is sweet : sweet to be heard if heard by love . And you have heard me ...
... flower of seas whose hunger- ing waters heave and press Against the planets and the sides of night , -mute , yearning , mystic tides ! To ease the heart with song is sweet : sweet to be heard if heard by love . And you have heard me ...
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Чести термини и фразе
ALFRED TENNYSON blow bonnets of bonnie bonnie Dundee boys brave breast breath bright cowslips crown Cusha dark dead dear death doth dream earth eyes fall feel fill flower Fontenoy forever Freedom's ahead galloped gang free glory glow golden hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honor JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL JEAN INGELOW JOHN MILTON kiss land let us gang life's light lips live Lochiel Locksley Hall long thoughts look Lord Lycidas morn mourn Neath nebber never night o'er open the Westport pain pale flower passion primroses rise ROBERT BUCHANAN round saddle your horses shadow shadows rise shining shore sigh silent sing smile song soul sound spring star sweet tears thee thine things thou thoughts of youth toil uppe voice wander wave weep Westport and let wheel wild WILLIAM MOTHERWELL wind wind's youth are long
Популарни одломци
Страница 109 - For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Страница 78 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
Страница 9 - Love took up the glass of time, and turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Страница 76 - And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure...
Страница 85 - 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 62 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Страница 97 - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
Страница 17 - Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
Страница 69 - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Страница 111 - Ay me! I fondly dream — Had ye been there — for what could that have done, What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament...