Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Tom 21854 |
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Strona 389
... Gone ... A Dream of Summer Worship ... WIFFEN , J. H. : To a new Visitant , on a September Evening WILBYE , JOHN . Madrigal WILLIS , N. P. .. Sunrise Thoughts ... ... ... Spring Hair ... ... 434 : 265 ... ... ... 201 ... ... 386 ... 474 ...
... Gone ... A Dream of Summer Worship ... WIFFEN , J. H. : To a new Visitant , on a September Evening WILBYE , JOHN . Madrigal WILLIS , N. P. .. Sunrise Thoughts ... ... ... Spring Hair ... ... 434 : 265 ... ... ... 201 ... ... 386 ... 474 ...
Strona 397
... ! call my brother back to me , I cannot play alone ; The summer comes with flower and bee- Where is my brother gone ? " The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track BEAUTIFUL POETRY . 397 The First Grief Mrs Hemans.
... ! call my brother back to me , I cannot play alone ; The summer comes with flower and bee- Where is my brother gone ? " The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track BEAUTIFUL POETRY . 397 The First Grief Mrs Hemans.
Strona 406
... gone ! Yet is the tale , brief though it be , as strange , As full methinks of wild and wondrous change , As any that the wandering tribes require , Stretch'd in the desert round their evening fire ; As any sung of old in hall or bower ...
... gone ! Yet is the tale , brief though it be , as strange , As full methinks of wild and wondrous change , As any that the wandering tribes require , Stretch'd in the desert round their evening fire ; As any sung of old in hall or bower ...
Strona 421
... Gone to his death - bed , All under the willow tree . Black his hair as the winter night , White his skin as the summer snow , Ruddy his face as the morning light , Cold he lies in the grave below : My love is dead , Gone to his death ...
... Gone to his death - bed , All under the willow tree . Black his hair as the winter night , White his skin as the summer snow , Ruddy his face as the morning light , Cold he lies in the grave below : My love is dead , Gone to his death ...
Strona 422
... Gone to his death - bed , All under the willow tree . Come , with acorn - cup and thorn , Drain my heart's blood all away : Life and all its good I scorn , Dance by night , or feast by day : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed ...
... Gone to his death - bed , All under the willow tree . Come , with acorn - cup and thorn , Drain my heart's blood all away : Life and all its good I scorn , Dance by night , or feast by day : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed ...
Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
Advertisements angels AUCTIONS beauty beneath bird blue bound breath bright child Church cloth clouds complete dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall feel flowers friends gentle give glad grace grave green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour JOHN JOURNAL kind land leaves light lips live look morning Nature never night numbers o'er once Passages poem POETRY POETS poor Property Published ready rest rose round SACRED Sales seen sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stand stars summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tree voice wanted wave wild wind wings young youth
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 499 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Strona 459 - HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from starlike eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes...
Strona 444 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Strona 459 - mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young ! When I was young? — Ah, woful when! Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it...
Strona 417 - And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives.
Strona 456 - Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar and to anticipate the skies.
Strona 499 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Strona 416 - Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Strona 502 - WiLL you walk into my parlour'?" said the Spider to the Fly, "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a -winding stair, And I have many curious things to shew when you are there." " Oh no, no," said the little Fly, " to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again.
Strona 461 - Yet abandon'd to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, Yet too innocent to blush ; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat ; Chirping forth thy petty joys, Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray ; Wearied then and glad...