"Under Green Leaves.": A Book of Rural PoemsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce & Huntington, 1865 - 96 |
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Strona 6
... waters clear is humming round , And the cuckoo sings unseen , And the leaves are waving green— Oh ! then ' tis sweet , In some retreat , To hear the murmuring dove , With those whom on earth alone we love , And to wind through the ...
... waters clear is humming round , And the cuckoo sings unseen , And the leaves are waving green— Oh ! then ' tis sweet , In some retreat , To hear the murmuring dove , With those whom on earth alone we love , And to wind through the ...
Strona 7
... The brightest e'er was seen . There come the little gentle birds , Without a fear of ill , Down to the murmuring water's edge , And freely drink their fill ! 7 BALLPAR UKRIMI And dash about and splash about , The merry little.
... The brightest e'er was seen . There come the little gentle birds , Without a fear of ill , Down to the murmuring water's edge , And freely drink their fill ! 7 BALLPAR UKRIMI And dash about and splash about , The merry little.
Strona 8
... water seemed to speak A welcome kind and low . The nodding plants they bowed their heads , As if in heartsome cheer : They spake unto these little things , " " Tis merry living here ! " Oh , how my heart ran o'er with joy ! I saw that ...
... water seemed to speak A welcome kind and low . The nodding plants they bowed their heads , As if in heartsome cheer : They spake unto these little things , " " Tis merry living here ! " Oh , how my heart ran o'er with joy ! I saw that ...
Strona 29
... sight , And I plucked a hollow reed ; And I made a rural pen ; And I stained the water clear ; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear . William Blake . THE LAMB . LITTLE Lamb , who made thee ? William Blake.
... sight , And I plucked a hollow reed ; And I made a rural pen ; And I stained the water clear ; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear . William Blake . THE LAMB . LITTLE Lamb , who made thee ? William Blake.
Strona 39
... water - flags with one another play , Bowing to every breeze that blows between While purple dragon - flies their wings display : The restless swallow's arrowy flight is seen , Dimpling the sunny wave , then lost amid the green XXV ...
... water - flags with one another play , Bowing to every breeze that blows between While purple dragon - flies their wings display : The restless swallow's arrowy flight is seen , Dimpling the sunny wave , then lost amid the green XXV ...
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Under Green Leaves: William Shakespeare, William Blake, John Keats, Mary ... Richard Henry Stoddard Ograniczony podgląd - 2018 |
Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
Alfred Tennyson amid ANDREW MARVELL beauty beneath birds bless blossoms blue boughs bowers breath breeze bright brook BUNCE & HUNTINGTON busy Bee clouds Cuckoo daisies deep delight dewy dost doth earth ECHOING GREEN eyes fair flowers George Darley glad golden grass greenwood GRONGAR HILL grove happy Hark hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh trolollie hither John Clare John Keats landscape lark leaves light linnet Little lamb lollie Lord Thurlow love good-morrow meadow meads merry murmuring Muse nest night NIGHT SONG nightingale nook o'er pipe Pluck primrose RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Robert Herrick round shade shepherd silver sing skies sleep soft SONG sound Spring star stream SUMMER MORNING sunny sweet thee thou art thou busy tree vale violets voice Wake wander weary wend wild Cherry-tree William Blake William Wordsworth wind wings woods
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 13 - Lines Written in Early Spring I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Strona 27 - To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
Strona 20 - Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Strona 90 - O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Strona 96 - 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...
Strona 14 - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: — But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
Strona 60 - Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade.
Strona 96 - 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.
Strona 18 - To BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last.
Strona 26 - Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...