The Poetical Works of John KeatsWiley & Putnam, 1847 - 256 страница |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 100
Страница 9
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , turtles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , turtles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
Страница 15
... thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May , As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes , -the very ...
... thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May , As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes , -the very ...
Страница 16
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . Hast thou sinn'd in aught Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
Страница 17
... thou so pale , who wast so bland And merry in our meadows ? How is this ? Tell me thine ailment : tell me all amiss ! Ah ! thou hast been unhappy at the change Wrought suddenly in me . What indeed more strange ? Or more complete to ...
... thou so pale , who wast so bland And merry in our meadows ? How is this ? Tell me thine ailment : tell me all amiss ! Ah ! thou hast been unhappy at the change Wrought suddenly in me . What indeed more strange ? Or more complete to ...
Страница 19
... thou a symbol of her golden hair ? Not oat - sheaves drooping in the western sun ; Not - thy soft hand , fair sister ! let me shun Such follying before thee - yet she had , Indeed , locks bright enough to make me mad ; And they were ...
... thou a symbol of her golden hair ? Not oat - sheaves drooping in the western sun ; Not - thy soft hand , fair sister ! let me shun Such follying before thee - yet she had , Indeed , locks bright enough to make me mad ; And they were ...
Друга издања - Прикажи све
Чести термини и фразе
adieu Apollo Art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian clouds cool Corinth dark deep delight divine dost doth dream earth EDWARD MOXON Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Goddess golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal JOHN KEATS kiss Lamia leaves LEIGH HUNT light lips lone lute Lycius lyre melodies morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale pass'd PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE pinions pleasant pleasure rill rose round Saturn Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whence whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
Популарни одломци
Страница 123 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine— Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Страница 1 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Страница 1 - Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in...
Страница 202 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod.
Страница 213 - I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away, Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story,— Said he saw you in your glory, Underneath a new old-sign Sipping beverage divine, And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac.
Страница 211 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Страница 202 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn.
Страница 211 - Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...
Страница 2 - We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite...
Страница 145 - Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy...