An Anthology of English VerseHoughton Mifflin, 1924 - 368 страница |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 43
Страница xi
... hath Time Sonnet : When I consider how my light is spent Edmund Waller Sir Francis Kynaston 333333 34 William Habington John Milton 33333 35 35 36 John Milton 37 Sonnet : Avenge O Lord thy slaughter'd Saints John Milton 37 A Constant ...
... hath Time Sonnet : When I consider how my light is spent Edmund Waller Sir Francis Kynaston 333333 34 William Habington John Milton 33333 35 35 36 John Milton 37 Sonnet : Avenge O Lord thy slaughter'd Saints John Milton 37 A Constant ...
Страница 1
... hath his make ; Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake ; Now welcom somer , with thy sonne softe , That hast this wintres weders over - shake , And driven awey the longe nightes blake . GEOFFREY CHAUCER . CAPTIVITY Your yen two wol ...
... hath his make ; Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake ; Now welcom somer , with thy sonne softe , That hast this wintres weders over - shake , And driven awey the longe nightes blake . GEOFFREY CHAUCER . CAPTIVITY Your yen two wol ...
Страница 3
... hath his bow forgot , All tho my lute and I have done . Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdain That makest but game on ernest pain ; Thinck not alone under the sonne Unquyt to cause thy lovers plain , All tho my lute and I have done ...
... hath his bow forgot , All tho my lute and I have done . Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdain That makest but game on ernest pain ; Thinck not alone under the sonne Unquyt to cause thy lovers plain , All tho my lute and I have done ...
Страница 8
... Epitaph containeth , Her eyes were once his dart . From so ungratefull fancie , From such a femall franzie , From them that use men thus , Good Lord deliver us . Alas , I lie : rage hath this error bred 8 An Anthology.
... Epitaph containeth , Her eyes were once his dart . From so ungratefull fancie , From such a femall franzie , From them that use men thus , Good Lord deliver us . Alas , I lie : rage hath this error bred 8 An Anthology.
Страница 9
John Drinkwater. Alas , I lie : rage hath this error bred , Love is not dead . Love is not dead , but sleepeth In her unmatched mind : Where she his counsell keepeth , Till due desert she find . Therefore from so vile fancie , To call ...
John Drinkwater. Alas , I lie : rage hath this error bred , Love is not dead . Love is not dead , but sleepeth In her unmatched mind : Where she his counsell keepeth , Till due desert she find . Therefore from so vile fancie , To call ...
Чести термини и фразе
Adonais ancient Mariner Angels beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds blest breast breath bright brow burning cloud cold dark dead dear death delight doth dream dust earth eccho ring eyes face fair fate fear FEET IN ANCIENT fire flame flowers golden green hair hand happy hath haue head hear heard heart Heaven hills hope I'le JOHN JOHN KEATS JOHN MILTON kiss light live look Lord loue Lover Lycidas Moon Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er pale Pleasure Porphyro RICHARD CRASHAW ROBERT BROWNING ROBERT HERRICK rose round Saint Samian wine shade ship sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song SONNET sorrow soul spirit Spring stars sweet tears tell thee theyr thine things thou art thought Timor Mortis conturbat twas voice WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR weep wild WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings woods
Популарни одломци
Страница 171 - 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! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The...
Страница 171 - Ode to a Nightingale MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Страница 77 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Страница 292 - Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
Страница 35 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Страница 150 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.
Страница 70 - THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Страница 118 - And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Страница 289 - The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound.
Страница 118 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor, So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...