The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One VolumeJohn Grigg, 1831 - 607 |
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Strona 10
... count they were laboriously composed , they will does or says , Coleridge has of late produced nothing avail him nothing with posterity . The verses of equal to the power of his pen . A few verses in an Coleridge give him his claim to ...
... count they were laboriously composed , they will does or says , Coleridge has of late produced nothing avail him nothing with posterity . The verses of equal to the power of his pen . A few verses in an Coleridge give him his claim to ...
Strona 22
... count the echoings of my feet , And watch the storm - vex'd flame . And there in black soul - jaundiced fit A sad gloom - pamper'd Man to sit , And listen to the roar : When Mountain Surges bellowing deep With an uncouth monster leap ...
... count the echoings of my feet , And watch the storm - vex'd flame . And there in black soul - jaundiced fit A sad gloom - pamper'd Man to sit , And listen to the roar : When Mountain Surges bellowing deep With an uncouth monster leap ...
Strona 49
... counts alone The beatings of the solitary heart , That Being knows , how I have loved thee ever , INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH . THIS Sycamore , oft musical with bees , - Such tents the Patriarchs loved ! O long unharm'd May ...
... counts alone The beatings of the solitary heart , That Being knows , how I have loved thee ever , INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH . THIS Sycamore , oft musical with bees , - Such tents the Patriarchs loved ! O long unharm'd May ...
Strona 77
... counting in each line the ac- cents , not the syllables . Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve , yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four . Nevertheless this oc- casional variation in number of syllables is ...
... counting in each line the ac- cents , not the syllables . Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve , yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four . Nevertheless this oc- casional variation in number of syllables is ...
Strona 80
... count as slowly as he can ! There is no lack of such , I ween , As well fill up the space between . In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair And Dungeon - ghyll so foully rent , With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons ' ghosts ...
... count as slowly as he can ! There is no lack of such , I ween , As well fill up the space between . In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair And Dungeon - ghyll so foully rent , With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons ' ghosts ...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume Samuel Taylor Coleridge Podgląd niedostępny - 2012 |
Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
AHASUERUS ALHADRA ALVAR arms art thou BATHORY BEATRICE beneath BETHLEN blood breath bright BUTLER calm cavern CENCI child clouds COUNTESS curse CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dare dark dead dear death deep DEMOGORGON doth dream earth Egra EMERICK eyes fair faith father fear feel flowers gaze gentle GLYCINE hast hath hear heard heart Heaven hope hour human ILLO ISIDORE ISOLANI lady LASKA light lips living look look'd Lord MEPHISTOPHELES mighty moon mother mountains never night o'er OCTAVIO ORDONIO pale PANTHEA poison'd PROMETHEUS QUESTENBERG RAAB KIUPRILI Robespierre round SAROLTA SCENE seem'd SEMICHORUS shadow silent SILENUS slaves sleep smile song soul sound speak spirit stars strange stream sweet tears tempest TERESA TERTSKY thee THEKLA thine things thou art thought throne truth Twas tyrant VALDEZ voice WALLENSTEIN waves weep wild wind wings words
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 458 - I bear light shades for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again 1 dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Strona 460 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then — as I am listening now.
Strona 72 - But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made ; Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade.
Strona 459 - I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below.
Strona 75 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Strona 459 - That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer...
Strona 453 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves...
Strona 453 - ODE TO THE WEST WIND O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow...
Strona 460 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Strona 459 - Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea...