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The Standard Poetry Book, Selected from the Best Authors
Standard Poetry Book
Podgląd niedostępny - 2015
art thou battle BATTLE OF BLENHEIM BATTLE OF WATERLOO beauty beneath bless bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow Brutus child clouds dark dead dear death deep dost doth dream earth ETON COLLEGE eyes fair father Fcap fear flowers gentle glory glowing grave Greece green grief happy hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry Kirke White hill holy honour hour king Lady LAKE REGILLUS land light live look lyre MERCHANT OF VENICE morn mother mountain mourn murmuring ne'er never night o'er praise pray pride proud rock round Samian wine shade Shakspeare sigh sight silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound SPANISH ARMADA spirit star storm sweet tears thee thine thou art thought thousand tree Twas vale voice wave weep wild wind wings Wordsworth youth
Strona 199 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Strona 161 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Strona 117 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the...
Strona 141 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Strona 198 - 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...
Strona 91 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Strona 158 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Strona 116 - There was a sound of revelry by night. And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again ; And all went merry as a marriage-bell, But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.
Strona 63 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.