The Earthy Paradise: September: The death of Paris; The land east of the sun and west of the moon. October: The story of Accontius and Cydippe; The man who never laughed again. November: The story of Rhodope; The lovers of GudrunRoberts brothers, 1871 |
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Acrisius Admetus adown Alcestis amid anigh awhile Bathstead behold belike bliss Bodli bright brought cast cried Cupid and Psyche dead death deemed door dream drew e'en earth Earthly Paradise enow erst eyes F. C. BURNAND face fair fear feet fell gazed gone goodwife gray grew grown Gudrun hall hand hast heard heart heart afire Herdholt hope Iceland Kiartan king kiss knew land lips look midst misery Morris naught neath nigh night Norway o'er Ogier the Dane Olaf once Ospak Oswif pain passed perchance poem poet Pygmalion Refna Rhodope round scarce seemed shame smile soul spake stood story strange strive sweet sword tale tears tell thee therewith thine things thou art thought trembling turned twixt unto weary wend WILLIAM MORRIS wind wise withal wonder words
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 10 - From us poor singers of an empty day. Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
Strona 20 - Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be the Polar star of Poetry, as Fancy is the Sails — and Imagination the rudder. Did our great Poets ever write short Pieces? I mean in the shape of Tales — this same invention seems indeed of late years to have been forgotten as a Poetical excellence...
Strona 18 - That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day. So with this Earthly Paradise it is, If ye will read aright, and pardon me, Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Midmost the beating of the steely sea...
Strona 10 - Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day. But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days die — Remember...
Strona 18 - Folk say, a wizard to a northern king At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, -.C Piped the drear wind of that December day.
Strona 20 - Do not the Lovers of Poetry like to "have a little Region to wander in where they may pick "and choose, and in which the images are so numerous "that many are forgotten and found new in a second "Reading: which may be food for a Week's stroll in the "Summer?
Strona 29 - FORGET six counties overhung with smoke, Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, Forget the spreading of the hideous town ; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, And dream of London, small, and white, and clean, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green...
Strona 22 - The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, These idle verses have no power to bear ; So let me sing of names remembered, Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, Or long time take their memory quite awuy From us poor singers of an empty day.
Strona 199 - Look out upon the real world, where the moon, Half-way 'twixt root and crown of these high trees, Turns the dead midnight into dreamy noon, Silent and full of wonders, for the breeze Died at the sunset, and no images, No hopes of day, are left in sky or earth — Is it not fair, and of most wondrous worth ? Yea, I have looked, and seen November there ; The changeless seal of change it seemed to be, Fair death of things that, living once, were fair; Bright sign of loneliness too great for me...
Strona 122 - That thou must even look the same, As while agone, as while agone, When thou and she were left alone, And hands, and lips, and tears did meet? Grow weak and pine, lie down to die, O body in thy misery,, Because short time and sweet goes by O foolish heart, how weak thou art! Break, break, because thou needs must part From thine own love, from thine own sweet!