Thomas Campion and the Art of English PoetryHodges, Figgis & Company, Limited, 1913 - 128 sider |
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A. H. Bullen accent accentual verse amavit ancient Art of English assonance beauty Book of Airs Bullen chant CHAPTER classical consonant couplet Cras amet dactyl Defence of Ryme delight doth Dublin Earl of Somerset Elizabethan English Metrists English Poesie English Prosody English verse epigrams example fall feet Gabriel Harvey grace Greek hath hexameter Homer iambic Irish isochronous periods John Campion kind language Latin verse length lines long syllable lyric Masque matter measure melody metre metrical metrist Milton's monopressure monosyllables pause Percival Vivian Philip Rosseter poem poet's poetry prose prosody pure sound quantitative verse quantity quoted rhythm rime rule Samuel Daniel says Shakespeare short sing Sir Thomas Monson song song-books song-verse song-verse and speech-verse sonnet species speech stanza stressed syllable sung sweet thee things Thomas Campion thou trochaic true tune unrimed unstressed voice vowel W. B. Yeats words writers Yeats
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Side 82 - I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Side 39 - cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds filled with snow. Yet them no peer nor prince can buy, Till "cherry-ripe
Side 115 - All is best, though we oft doubt, What the unsearchable dispose Of highest wisdom brings about, And ever best found in the close.
Side 36 - With lovers' long discourse; Much speech hath some defence, Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well: Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys They shorten tedious nights.
Side 31 - Then watch and labour, while time is ! //,' :.COME, cheerful day, part of my life to me : For while thou view'st me with thy fading light, Part of my life doth still depart with thee. And I still onward haste to my last night, Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly : So every day we live a day we die. But, O ye nights, ordained for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life in you, When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! Part of my life in that, you life...
Side 48 - Twas a handsome milk-maid that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do; but she cast away all care and sung like a nightingale. Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it: it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow now at least fifty years ago.
Side 31 - NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast. O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest! Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes : Glory there the sun outshines ; whose beams the Blessed only see. O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee!
Side 26 - There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love. But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again ! All that I sang, still to her praise did tend.
Side 115 - And to His faithful champion hath in place Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns, And all that band them to resist His uncontrollable intent: His servants He, with new acquist Of true experience from this great event, With peace and consolation hath dismissed, And calm of mind, all passion spent.
Side 32 - Do their week-days' work and pray Devoutly on the holy day; Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the summer queen ; Lash out, at a country feast, Their silver penny with the best. Well can they judge of nappy ale, And tell at large a winter talc; I0 Climb up to the apple loft, And turn the crabs till they be soft.