The English poets, selections, ed. by T.H. Ward. Chaucer to DonneThomas Humphry Ward 1880 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 6 - 10 z 34.
Strana 234
... Fear na ye that , my lord , ' quo ' Willie : ' By the faith o ' my body , Lord Scroop , ' he said , ' I never yet lodged in a hostelrie , But I paid my lawing before I gaed . ' Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper , In Branksome Ha ...
... Fear na ye that , my lord , ' quo ' Willie : ' By the faith o ' my body , Lord Scroop , ' he said , ' I never yet lodged in a hostelrie , But I paid my lawing before I gaed . ' Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper , In Branksome Ha ...
Strana 235
... fear ? And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed , or shake a spear ? ' O were there war between the lands , As well I wot that there is none , I would slight Carlisle castell high , Tho ' it were builded of marble stone ...
... fear ? And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed , or shake a spear ? ' O were there war between the lands , As well I wot that there is none , I would slight Carlisle castell high , Tho ' it were builded of marble stone ...
Strana 237
... fear that they should stamp and nie . And when we left the Staneshaw - bank , The wind began full loud to blaw , But ' twas wind and weet , and fire and sleet , When we came beneath the castle wa ' . We crept on knees , and held our ...
... fear that they should stamp and nie . And when we left the Staneshaw - bank , The wind began full loud to blaw , But ' twas wind and weet , and fire and sleet , When we came beneath the castle wa ' . We crept on knees , and held our ...
Strana 244
... fear my master is near dead , He blows so wearily . ' Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone , As fast as he can dri'e ; But when he came to Kirkley - hall , He broke locks two or three : Until he came bold Robin to , Then he fell on ...
... fear my master is near dead , He blows so wearily . ' Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone , As fast as he can dri'e ; But when he came to Kirkley - hall , He broke locks two or three : Until he came bold Robin to , Then he fell on ...
Strana 273
... fear was in my breast : But false fortune , when I suspected least , Did turn the wheel , and with a doleful fall Hath me bereft of honour , life , and all . Lo , what avails in riches floods that flows ? Though she so smil'd , as all ...
... fear was in my breast : But false fortune , when I suspected least , Did turn the wheel , and with a doleful fall Hath me bereft of honour , life , and all . Lo , what avails in riches floods that flows ? Though she so smil'd , as all ...
Obsah
137 | |
147 | |
159 | |
168 | |
175 | |
184 | |
192 | |
203 | |
209 | |
255 | |
263 | |
270 | |
275 | |
341 | |
424 | |
430 | |
446 | |
461 | |
466 | |
474 | |
486 | |
495 | |
505 | |
516 | |
528 | |
537 | |
543 | |
558 | |
Iné vydania - Zobraziť všetky
Časté výrazy a frázy
Aeneid Astrophel and Stella ballads beauty Caelica Canterbury Tales Chaucer Clerk Saunders Confessio Amantis dead death delight doth drede Edom English eyes Faery Queen fair fayre flour flowers Glasgerion gold grace grene gret grete gude hart hast hath heart heaven herte hire honour king lady live Lord lovers Lydgate Lyoun mede mind mony myght never night nocht nought passion Petrarch poem poet poetical poetry Quhat Quhen quhilk quod quoth rhyme royal rich Robin Robin Hood sall sayd sche scho Scotch seyde shal Sidney Sidney's sight sing song sonnets sorwe Spenser suld sweet swete swich thair thay thee ther thing THOMAS OCCLEVE thou thought thow Timor Mortis conturbat Troylus true truth tyme unto Venus verse whan wight wolde word write wyth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 459 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Strana 449 - Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Strana 448 - When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope...
Strana 450 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
Strana 485 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Strana 458 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to 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.
Strana 450 - So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain* jewels in the carcanet.
Strana xiii - THE future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay. There is not a creed which is not shaken, not an accredited dogma which is not shown to be questionable, not a received tradition which does not threaten to dissolve.
Strana 347 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies : How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?
Strana 423 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?