Harper's Cyclopædia of British and American PoetryEpes Sargent Harper & Brothers, 1881 - 958 strán (strany) |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
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Strana i
... dream of fame - must always be an elevating pursuit . There are some great truths for the expression of which the speculative understanding is less fitted than that which is the issue of right feelings and noble impulses . That poets ...
... dream of fame - must always be an elevating pursuit . There are some great truths for the expression of which the speculative understanding is less fitted than that which is the issue of right feelings and noble impulses . That poets ...
Strana x
... Dream .... 401 The Destruction of Sennacherib .. 403 Carrington , Noel Thomas . When We Two Parted ...... 403 The Pixies of Devon .... 341 Modern Critics .... 403 Maid of Athens , Ere We Part . 404 Cartwright , William . To Thomas Moore ...
... Dream .... 401 The Destruction of Sennacherib .. 403 Carrington , Noel Thomas . When We Two Parted ...... 403 The Pixies of Devon .... 341 Modern Critics .... 403 Maid of Athens , Ere We Part . 404 Cartwright , William . To Thomas Moore ...
Strana 5
... dream , methocht come through the shaw The fairest man that ever before I saw . His gown was of ane claith as white as milk , His chimeris1 was of chambelote purple - brown ; His hood of scarlet bordered weel with silk , Unheckéd - wise ...
... dream , methocht come through the shaw The fairest man that ever before I saw . His gown was of ane claith as white as milk , His chimeris1 was of chambelote purple - brown ; His hood of scarlet bordered weel with silk , Unheckéd - wise ...
Strana 40
... dream , a daily dying ! What is my flesh ? My soul's uneasy clothing ! What is my time ? A minute ever flying ! My time , my flesh , my life , and I- What are we , Lord , but vanity ? Where am I , Lord ? Down in a vale of death ! What ...
... dream , a daily dying ! What is my flesh ? My soul's uneasy clothing ! What is my time ? A minute ever flying ! My time , my flesh , my life , and I- What are we , Lord , but vanity ? Where am I , Lord ? Down in a vale of death ! What ...
Strana 56
... dream ; And some have wept , and wooed , and plighted troth , And chose their priest , ere we can cast off sloth ; Many a green gown has been given ; Many a kiss , both odd and even ; Many a glance , too , has been sent From out the eye ...
... dream ; And some have wept , and wooed , and plighted troth , And chose their priest , ere we can cast off sloth ; Many a green gown has been given ; Many a kiss , both odd and even ; Many a glance , too , has been sent From out the eye ...
Obsah
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Iné vydania - Zobraziť všetky
Časté výrazy a frázy
beauty Ben Jonson beneath Binnorie birds blessed bonny born breast breath bright brow busk Charles Lamb charms Chevy Chase clouds dark dead dear death deep delight divine doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fame father fear flowers frae glory grace green grief Grongar Hill hame hand happy hast hath Hazelgreen hear heart heaven heir of Linne hope hour immortal king kiss land lassie leave light live look Lord Lycidas mind morning mortal native Nature's ne'er never night numbers Nut-brown Maide o'er pain pleasure poem poet praise Robin Hood rose round Scotland shade shine sigh sing Sir Patrick Spens sleep smile song sonnets sorrow soul sound spirit stars Stutly sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought Twas verse voice waves weep wild wind wings wrote Yarrow young youth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 99 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, ' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ?
Strana 413 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Strana 664 - 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!
Strana 664 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as
Strana 183 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Strana 290 - Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Strana 310 - And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.
Strana 414 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Strana 653 - And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!
Strana 663 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.