The World's Best Poetry ...J. D. Morris, 1904 |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 94
Страница xxi
... man ! Lave in it , drink of it , Then , if you can . " Take her up tenderly , Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly , Young , and so fair ! " No analysis of philosophy can make us ac- quainted with AN INTERPRETER OF LIFE . xxi.
... man ! Lave in it , drink of it , Then , if you can . " Take her up tenderly , Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly , Young , and so fair ! " No analysis of philosophy can make us ac- quainted with AN INTERPRETER OF LIFE . xxi.
Страница 10
... FAIR INES . O SAW ye not fair Ines ? she ' s gone into the west , To dazzle when the sun is down , and rob the world of rest ; She took our daylight with her , the smiles that we love best , With morning blushes on her cheek , and ...
... FAIR INES . O SAW ye not fair Ines ? she ' s gone into the west , To dazzle when the sun is down , and rob the world of rest ; She took our daylight with her , the smiles that we love best , With morning blushes on her cheek , and ...
Страница 11
... fair Ines , that gallant cavalier Who rode so gayly by thy side and whispered thee so near ! — Were there no bonny dames at home , or no true lovers here , That he should cross the seas to win the dearest of the dear ? I saw thee ...
... fair Ines , that gallant cavalier Who rode so gayly by thy side and whispered thee so near ! — Were there no bonny dames at home , or no true lovers here , That he should cross the seas to win the dearest of the dear ? I saw thee ...
Страница 12
... fair ? How can ye chant , ye little birds , And I sae weary , fu ' o ' care ? Thou ' t break my heart , thou warbling bird , That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o ' departed joys , Departed - never to return . Thou ...
... fair ? How can ye chant , ye little birds , And I sae weary , fu ' o ' care ? Thou ' t break my heart , thou warbling bird , That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o ' departed joys , Departed - never to return . Thou ...
Страница 16
... fair young forehead on the stone ; The dark shade gloomed an instant on her head ; And ' twixt her taper fingers pearled and shone The single tear that tear - worn eyes will shed . The shade slipped onward to the falling gloom ; Then ...
... fair young forehead on the stone ; The dark shade gloomed an instant on her head ; And ' twixt her taper fingers pearled and shone The single tear that tear - worn eyes will shed . The shade slipped onward to the falling gloom ; Then ...
Друга издања - Прикажи све
Чести термини и фразе
angels Annabel Lee Auf wiedersehen beauty behold beneath bird blessed bloom breast breath bright brow calm cheek child cold Cumnor dark days go dead dear death doth dream dying earth ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING eyes face fair Farewell fear flowers forever friends glory gone grave gray green grief hand hath hear heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hope hour JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER kiss light lips live Lochaber look Lord LORD TENNYSON Lycidas Mary morning mother never nevermore night o'er old Kentucky home pain pale peace PIERRE-JEAN DE BÉRANGER Queen rest ROBERT BURNS Robin Adair rose shadow shining shore sigh silent sing sleep smile snow song sorrow soul spirit spring stars summer sweet tears tender thee There's thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought Vere voice weary weep wild wind
Популарни одломци
Страница 416 - 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...
Страница 158 - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer...
Страница 416 - Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : " Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
Страница 142 - 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 400 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Страница 253 - Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes — Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade thro...
Страница 224 - But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Страница 197 - OUT of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
Страница 181 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Страница 224 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make, With a bare bodkin?