The Laurel and Lyre. Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth CenturyFrederick Warne and Company, 1879 - 400 sidor |
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... voice of psalms is shed ! And there upon her stately bed , While her raven locks recline O'er an arm more pure than snow , Motionless beneath her head- And through her large fair eyelids shine Shadowy dreams that come and go , By too ...
... voice of psalms is shed ! And there upon her stately bed , While her raven locks recline O'er an arm more pure than snow , Motionless beneath her head- And through her large fair eyelids shine Shadowy dreams that come and go , By too ...
Sida 6
... voice was like a sound Elsewhere beloved ! That pitying face Reminds me of the dead ! " Again she hears her Edith speak- Doubt , fear , and trouble leave her cheek , And suddenly returning Remembrances all bright and fair , Above the ...
... voice was like a sound Elsewhere beloved ! That pitying face Reminds me of the dead ! " Again she hears her Edith speak- Doubt , fear , and trouble leave her cheek , And suddenly returning Remembrances all bright and fair , Above the ...
Sida 24
... voice , when all But ceaseless , life - consuming sorrow slept . And at those hours how often used I wake From my light sleep , and to the casement steal ; Then , as the moonbeam glitter'd on the Rhone , The music of that voice and lute ...
... voice , when all But ceaseless , life - consuming sorrow slept . And at those hours how often used I wake From my light sleep , and to the casement steal ; Then , as the moonbeam glitter'd on the Rhone , The music of that voice and lute ...
Sida 31
... voice - the awful voice Of the blood - avenging sprite- ' Thou guilty man , take up thy dead , And hide it from my sight ! ' " I took the dreary body up , And cast it in a stream , A sluggish water , black as ink , The depth was so ...
... voice - the awful voice Of the blood - avenging sprite- ' Thou guilty man , take up thy dead , And hide it from my sight ! ' " I took the dreary body up , And cast it in a stream , A sluggish water , black as ink , The depth was so ...
Sida 35
... voice I hear In that low night - wind's bursting sigh- Oh tell me , can the hour be near When from my troubled heart shall fly That bird of grief , whose raven wing My brightest hopes is shadowing ? Spirit ! again I hear thee speak ...
... voice I hear In that low night - wind's bursting sigh- Oh tell me , can the hour be near When from my troubled heart shall fly That bird of grief , whose raven wing My brightest hopes is shadowing ? Spirit ! again I hear thee speak ...
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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 death deep doth dream earth Eugene Aram face fade fair Farewell fear feel flowers gaze gentle gleam glory grave green grief hand hath heard heart heaven Here's hope hour JOHN KEATS lady life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute lyre Mermaid Tavern MISS LANDON Mont Blanc morning mother mountain 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 throne 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.