The Book of Georgian Verse, Volym 1William Stanley Braithwaite Grant Richards, 1909 - 1313 sidor |
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Sida 33
... silent green , While the nightingale , unseen , To the moon and stars , full bright , Lonesome chants the hymn of night ? Have ye seen the broider'd May All her scented bloom display , Breezes opening , every hour , This , and that ...
... silent green , While the nightingale , unseen , To the moon and stars , full bright , Lonesome chants the hymn of night ? Have ye seen the broider'd May All her scented bloom display , Breezes opening , every hour , This , and that ...
Sida 103
... silent sleep : Then he , perhaps , with moist and watery hand , Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek , And with his blue swoln face before her stand , And , shivering cold , these piteous accents speak ; ' Pursue , dear wife ...
... silent sleep : Then he , perhaps , with moist and watery hand , Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek , And with his blue swoln face before her stand , And , shivering cold , these piteous accents speak ; ' Pursue , dear wife ...
Sida 150
... silent maid , With leaden eye , that loves the ground , Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity , the general friend , With Justice , to herself severe , And Pity , dropping soft the sadly - pleasing tear . Oh , gently on thy ...
... silent maid , With leaden eye , that loves the ground , Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity , the general friend , With Justice , to herself severe , And Pity , dropping soft the sadly - pleasing tear . Oh , gently on thy ...
Sida 164
... silent dust , Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands , that the rod of empire might have swayed , Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ...
... silent dust , Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands , that the rod of empire might have swayed , Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ...
Sida 170
... silent moments as they pass The winged moments , whose unstaying speed No art can stop , or in their course arrest , Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead , And lay me down in peace with them that rest . Oft morning dreams ...
... silent moments as they pass The winged moments , whose unstaying speed No art can stop , or in their course arrest , Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead , And lay me down in peace with them that rest . Oft morning dreams ...
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Vanliga ord och fraser
Arethusa auld auld lang syne baloo beauty beneath bird bless bloom bonnie Bonny Dundee bosom bower braes breast breath bright Brignall busk canna charms cheek dance dark dead dear death doth dream e'en e'er earth eyes fair fear flowers frae grave green ha'e hame hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills hour Inchcape Rock Kilmeny lady land lass lassie light lo'e look Lord Lord Byron loud maid maun moon morning ne'er never night o'er pain pale R. B. Sheridan rill rose round S. T. Coleridge shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit sweet tears tell thee There's thine thou art thought thro tree Twas voice W. S. Landor Warwickshire waves weel weep wild wind wings wyfe Yarrow youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 843 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Sida 962 - Ye mariners of England That guard our native seas ! Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe: And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow.
Sida 573 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream — Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
Sida 1153 - That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Sida 223 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Sida 607 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Sida 570 - Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Sida 937 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Sida 1083 - 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 169 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their Country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there!