Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Tom 11853 |
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Strona xii
... :: ... ... The Bridge of Sighs Life ... HOOPER , LUCY . Lines HORNE , R. H. ... Forest Solemnity HOUSMAN . Evening The Forest Child HOWITT , MARY The Mill Stream ... 73 89 ... 419 ... ... 134 : ... 531 ... ... 223 438 16 :: T ...
... :: ... ... The Bridge of Sighs Life ... HOOPER , LUCY . Lines HORNE , R. H. ... Forest Solemnity HOUSMAN . Evening The Forest Child HOWITT , MARY The Mill Stream ... 73 89 ... 419 ... ... 134 : ... 531 ... ... 223 438 16 :: T ...
Strona 3
... sigh'd . The vet'ran who had bled on some far field Fought o'er the battle for the thousandth time With quaint addition ; and the little child , That stopp'd his sport to run and ask his sire What it all meant , pick'd out the simple ...
... sigh'd . The vet'ran who had bled on some far field Fought o'er the battle for the thousandth time With quaint addition ; and the little child , That stopp'd his sport to run and ask his sire What it all meant , pick'd out the simple ...
Strona 31
... sighs Are blended with the funeral hymn ; The spirit hath an earthly part , That weeps when earthly pleasure flies , And heaven would scorn the frozen heart , That melts not when the infant dies . And yet why mourn ? that deep repose ...
... sighs Are blended with the funeral hymn ; The spirit hath an earthly part , That weeps when earthly pleasure flies , And heaven would scorn the frozen heart , That melts not when the infant dies . And yet why mourn ? that deep repose ...
Strona 32
... sigh'd for sleep , -for sleep that would not hear , But left her tossing still ; for night and day A mighty hunger yearn'd within her heart , Till all her veins ran fever , and her cheek , Her long thin hands , and ivory - channel'd ...
... sigh'd for sleep , -for sleep that would not hear , But left her tossing still ; for night and day A mighty hunger yearn'd within her heart , Till all her veins ran fever , and her cheek , Her long thin hands , and ivory - channel'd ...
Strona 34
... sigh , Or filial love was glowing there , Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer , Or tale of injury call'd forth The indignant spirit of the north . One only passion , unreveal'd , With maiden pride the maid conceal'd , Yet not less purely ...
... sigh , Or filial love was glowing there , Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer , Or tale of injury call'd forth The indignant spirit of the north . One only passion , unreveal'd , With maiden pride the maid conceal'd , Yet not less purely ...
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Advertisements beautiful beneath bird blue breast breath bright brow calm cheek child Church clouds cold comes dark dead death deep dream earth eyes face fair fall fear feel flowers friends gentle give golden gone grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour human Journal land leaves light lips live look mind moon morn mother mountain nature never night o'er once pale pass poem poet poetry prayer published rest rose round shade shadow shine silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars Strand stream summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thoughts trees voice wake waters waves weep wild wind wings woods young youth
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 76 - Of aspect more sublime : that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world. Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood. In which the affections gently lead us on, Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul...
Strona 190 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade 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 I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Strona 52 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Strona 367 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Strona 5 - All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Strona 4 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Strona 364 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Strona 240 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star...
Strona 53 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
Strona 297 - Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.