The Chilswell Book of English PoetryRobert Bridges Longmans, Green, 1924 - 272 |
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Strona 2
... water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary - buds begin To ope their golden eyes ; With every thing that pretty is , My lady sweet , arise ; Arise , arise ! Shakespeare . Song on May Morning Now the bright ...
... water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary - buds begin To ope their golden eyes ; With every thing that pretty is , My lady sweet , arise ; Arise , arise ! Shakespeare . Song on May Morning Now the bright ...
Strona 24
... waters go , Come from the dying moon , and blow , Blow him again to me ; Blake . While my little one , while my pretty one , sleeps . Sleep and rest , sleep and rest , Father will come to thee soon ; Rest , rest , on mother's breast ...
... waters go , Come from the dying moon , and blow , Blow him again to me ; Blake . While my little one , while my pretty one , sleeps . Sleep and rest , sleep and rest , Father will come to thee soon ; Rest , rest , on mother's breast ...
Strona 28
... waters kiss'd , Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean , Who now hath quite forgot to rave , While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave . The Stars with deep amaze VI Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze , Bending one way their ...
... waters kiss'd , Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean , Who now hath quite forgot to rave , While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave . The Stars with deep amaze VI Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze , Bending one way their ...
Strona 37
... water'd heaven with their tears , Did he smile his work to see ? Did he who made the Lamb make thee ? Tiger ! tiger ! burning bright In the forests of the night , What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? Blake . 45 ...
... water'd heaven with their tears , Did he smile his work to see ? Did he who made the Lamb make thee ? Tiger ! tiger ! burning bright In the forests of the night , What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? Blake . 45 ...
Strona 44
... Water , water , everywhere , And all the boards did shrink ; Water , water , everywhere , Nor any drop to drink . ' The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 44.
... Water , water , everywhere , And all the boards did shrink ; Water , water , everywhere , Nor any drop to drink . ' The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 44.
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bear beauty beneath birds blow breath bright close cloud cold comes dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear fire flowers give glory gone grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hour John keep king land leaves less lies light live look Lord loud mind moon morning move Nature never night o'er once pain peace play poem rest Ring rise round Shakespeare ship shore silent sing sleep song soon soul sound spirit Spring stand stars stood stream sweet tears tell thee things thou thou art thought thousand tree true voice waters waves weary wide wild wind wings woods youth
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 176 - Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Strona 102 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war,— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Strona 174 - 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 85 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Strona 18 - O Captain! My Captain! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
Strona 26 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Strona 199 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks,* and wanton* wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Strona 203 - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 140 With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Strona 4 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Strona 194 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.