A household book of English poetry, selected with notes by R.C. TrenchRichard Chenevix Trench (abp. of Dublin) 1868 |
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Side 142
... Lycidas is dead , dead ere his prime , Young Lycidas , and hath not left his peer . Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing , and build the lofty rhyme . He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept , and welter to the ...
... Lycidas is dead , dead ere his prime , Young Lycidas , and hath not left his peer . Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing , and build the lofty rhyme . He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept , and welter to the ...
Side 143
... herds that graze , Or frost to flowers , that their gay wardrobe wear , When first the white - thorn blows ; Such , Lycidas , thy loss to shepherds ' ear . Where were ye , Nymphs , when the remorseless deep of English Poetry . 143.
... herds that graze , Or frost to flowers , that their gay wardrobe wear , When first the white - thorn blows ; Such , Lycidas , thy loss to shepherds ' ear . Where were ye , Nymphs , when the remorseless deep of English Poetry . 143.
Side 144
... Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep , Where your old bards , the famous Druids , lie , Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high , Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream ! 55 Had ye been there ...
... Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep , Where your old bards , the famous Druids , lie , Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high , Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream ! 55 Had ye been there ...
Side 147
... Lycidas , your sorrow , is not dead , 165 Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day - star in the ocean - bed , And yet anon repairs his drooping head , And tricks his beams , and with new - spangled ore 170 Flames ...
... Lycidas , your sorrow , is not dead , 165 Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day - star in the ocean - bed , And yet anon repairs his drooping head , And tricks his beams , and with new - spangled ore 170 Flames ...
Side 404
... Lycidas is displayed , and which has brought all or nearly all of its strange assemblage of materials into harmonious unity — and even where this is not so , hardly allows us to remember the fact , so wondrous is the beauty and ...
... Lycidas is displayed , and which has brought all or nearly all of its strange assemblage of materials into harmonious unity — and even where this is not so , hardly allows us to remember the fact , so wondrous is the beauty and ...
Almindelige termer og sætninger
Alfred Tennyson Ambrose Philips Anon beauty Ben Jonson beneath bird bonnie braes breast breath bright busk cloth clouds crown dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth English English Poetry eyes fair fame fancy fear flowers glory golden grace grave gray green grief hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven Henry Vaughan honour hope hour John Milton King light lines live look Lord Lycidas mind morn mother mourn Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er pale peace Percy Bysshe Shelley pleasure poem poet poetry praise rose Samuel Taylor Coleridge shade shine sigh sing sleep smile song SONNET sorrow soul spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought trees voice weep wild William Davenant William Shakespeare William Wordsworth wind woods Yarrow youth ΙΟ
Populære passager
Side 215 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came : nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Side 286 - Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Side 215 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Side 250 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Side 273 - Of all this unintelligible world. Is lightened:— that serene and blessed mood. In which the affections gently lead us on.— Until. the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended. we are laid asleep In body. and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony. and the deep power of joy. We see into the life of things.
Side 345 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Side 144 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.
Side 381 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Side 51 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Side 32 - Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, '° When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes: Now if thou would'st, when all have given...