The Laurel and Lyre. Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth CenturyFrederick Warne and Company, 1879 - 400 sidor |
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Sida viii
... Night , 55 Night , 299 Ode , 286 Ode to a Nightingale , 70 Oh no , we never speak of Her , 171 On a Portrait of Nell Gwyn , 372 On a Sleeping Boy , On a Very Old Wedding Ring , On Painting , • On the Death of an Infant , 136 134 182 213 ...
... Night , 55 Night , 299 Ode , 286 Ode to a Nightingale , 70 Oh no , we never speak of Her , 171 On a Portrait of Nell Gwyn , 372 On a Sleeping Boy , On a Very Old Wedding Ring , On Painting , • On the Death of an Infant , 136 134 182 213 ...
Sida 1
... night , For the moon is swept from the starless heaven , And the latest line of lowering light That linger'd on the stormy even- A dim - seen line , half cloud , half wave— Hath sunk into the weltering grave . Castle - Oban is dark ...
... night , For the moon is swept from the starless heaven , And the latest line of lowering light That linger'd on the stormy even- A dim - seen line , half cloud , half wave— Hath sunk into the weltering grave . Castle - Oban is dark ...
Sida 6
... welter'd with the weltering dead . Floating all night with a corse Over high blood - crested waves , Or driven by a fiendish force Edderline's Dream . Down into unfathom'd caves : Blessed be $ 6 The Laurel and Lyre .
... welter'd with the weltering dead . Floating all night with a corse Over high blood - crested waves , Or driven by a fiendish force Edderline's Dream . Down into unfathom'd caves : Blessed be $ 6 The Laurel and Lyre .
Sida 9
... night before he cross'd the wave To kingdoms far away . Soft steps are winding down the stair And now beneath the morning air Her breast breathes strong and free ; The sun in his prime glorious hour Is up , and with a purple shower Hath ...
... night before he cross'd the wave To kingdoms far away . Soft steps are winding down the stair And now beneath the morning air Her breast breathes strong and free ; The sun in his prime glorious hour Is up , and with a purple shower Hath ...
Sida 20
... night , And roam'd , as we were wont to roam , And pictured with a fond delight , The pleasures of our future home : That home , our hearts may never share , ' Tis lost to both for ever now ; The tree of hope lies wither'd -- bare ...
... night , And roam'd , as we were wont to roam , And pictured with a fond delight , The pleasures of our future home : That home , our hearts may never share , ' Tis lost to both for ever now ; The tree of hope lies wither'd -- bare ...
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The Laurel and Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth Century Alaric Alexander Watts Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1867 |
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91 Lines ALARIC ALLAN CUNNINGHAM BARRY CORNWALL beauty beneath bird bless'd bloom bosom breast breath bright brow call'd CAROLINE BOWLES cheek child clouds cold dark dead dear death deep dream earth Eugene Aram face fade fair Farewell fear feel flowers gaze gentle gleam glory grave green grief hath heard heart heaven Here's hope hour JOHN KEATS kiss lady life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute lyre Mermaid Tavern MISS LANDON Mont Blanc morning mother ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd pride redundant song rock rose round seem'd shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star storm stream summer sweet tears thee thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought tomb tree Twas voice wallflower wandering wave weep wild wild dance wind wings youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 70 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Sida 69 - 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...
Sida 333 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Sida 70 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down : The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Sida 176 - I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away, Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story...
Sida 69 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Sida 71 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
Sida 40 - That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense.
Sida 27 - The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves...
Sida 379 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow.