William Wordsworth: A BiographyCash, 1856 - 508 sider |
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Side 5
... mind one tyrannic and dominant Impulse overturns another ; how the dynasty of passion perhaps yields at last altogether to the dynasty of Intelligence ; or how the empire of passion merges in the anarchy of Crime . How the king- dom of mind ...
... mind one tyrannic and dominant Impulse overturns another ; how the dynasty of passion perhaps yields at last altogether to the dynasty of Intelligence ; or how the empire of passion merges in the anarchy of Crime . How the king- dom of mind ...
Side 13
... mind never lay unconscious , even in comparative childhood it was alive to vivid and precocious reflection , his school days not less than the later period of his life bear testimony to his sensibility to wonder , and to thought . We ...
... mind never lay unconscious , even in comparative childhood it was alive to vivid and precocious reflection , his school days not less than the later period of his life bear testimony to his sensibility to wonder , and to thought . We ...
Side 18
... mind of Words- worth ; we find no unhealthy evidences of precocious maturity — he was a boy , not a man ; his genius was too hardy and noble to develope itself too early ; he was no Chatterton ; images of beauty and power ; the play ...
... mind of Words- worth ; we find no unhealthy evidences of precocious maturity — he was a boy , not a man ; his genius was too hardy and noble to develope itself too early ; he was no Chatterton ; images of beauty and power ; the play ...
Side 19
... mind life of our author at that day . The history of the child related by the man we turn to and read with avi- dity , when it is written as it usually must be with in- tense delight and love . One of those ineffable gems of egotistic ...
... mind life of our author at that day . The history of the child related by the man we turn to and read with avi- dity , when it is written as it usually must be with in- tense delight and love . One of those ineffable gems of egotistic ...
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
admiration ancient Artist beautiful beheld beneath Bishopsgate Bishopsgate Street character charm cloth clouds Coleridge colours deep delight Drama ELIHU BURRITT emotions faith fancy feel felt forms FREDERICK G genius Goethe Grasmere Grecian Hartley Coleridge hath Hawkshead heart heaven Helvellyn Henry Alford hills homage human impressions interest Jeffrey lake Land of Wordsworth Laodamia light live lofty look Lyrical Ballads mental mighty Milton mind moral mountain nature never objects painting passed passion perhaps Peter Bell poems Poet Poet's poetry portrait Quincey racter reader ROBERT SOUTHEY rock round Rydal Rylstone SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scenery Schiller seems seen sense Sonnets sorrow soul sound Southey spirit sublime sympathy thee things thou thought tion true truth utterance verse village voice walk WATER LILY whole wild William Wordsworth Windermere winds woman wonderful words writings youth
Populære passager
Side 379 - Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Side 209 - Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee!
Side 377 - Milton ! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Side 377 - Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Side 176 - The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, Was of a mighty city — boldly say A wilderness of building, sinking far And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth, Far sinking into splendour — without end ! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, With alabaster domes, and silver spires, And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright, In avenues disposed ; there, towers begirt With battlements...
Side 16 - So through the darkness and the cold we flew, and not a voice was idle: with the din smitten, the precipices rang aloud; the leafless trees and every icy crag tinkled like iron; while far distant hills into the tumult sent an alien sound of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west the orange sky of evening died away.
Side 17 - When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels. Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round!
Side 340 - ... During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours of imagination.
Side 359 - Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Side 211 - And then an open field they crossed : The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none ! — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child ; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.