The English Poets: Selections with Critical IntroductionsThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1894 |
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... Spirit of Achilles ( from The Deformed Transformed ) 300 On this day I complete my thirty - sixth year WILLIAM ... Spirit PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ( 1792-1822 ) Stanzas - April 1814 • . • . 346 346 Frederick W. H. Myers 348 Extract from ...
... Spirit of Achilles ( from The Deformed Transformed ) 300 On this day I complete my thirty - sixth year WILLIAM ... Spirit PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ( 1792-1822 ) Stanzas - April 1814 • . • . 346 346 Frederick W. H. Myers 348 Extract from ...
Sida 8
... spirit , he , with Turner , was a discoverer in the open face of nature : working apart from one another , these two mighty ' Lords of the eye , ' seized and grasped what had always been visible yet never seen , and gave their ...
... spirit , he , with Turner , was a discoverer in the open face of nature : working apart from one another , these two mighty ' Lords of the eye , ' seized and grasped what had always been visible yet never seen , and gave their ...
Sida 14
... spirit of aloofness ' and self - forgetfulness which , whether spontaneous or the result of the highest art , marks the highest types of poetry . Perhaps it is from this that he so rarely abandoned himself to that spirit of p'ayfulness ...
... spirit of aloofness ' and self - forgetfulness which , whether spontaneous or the result of the highest art , marks the highest types of poetry . Perhaps it is from this that he so rarely abandoned himself to that spirit of p'ayfulness ...
Sida 16
... spirit breathed From dead men to their kind . You look round on your Mother Earth , As if she for no purpose bore you ; As if you were her first - born birth , And none had lived before you ! ' One morning thus , by Esthwaite lake ...
... spirit breathed From dead men to their kind . You look round on your Mother Earth , As if she for no purpose bore you ; As if you were her first - born birth , And none had lived before you ! ' One morning thus , by Esthwaite lake ...
Sida 20
... spirit , have I turned to thee , O sylvan Wye ! thou wanderer thro ' the woods , How often has my spirit turned to thee ! And now , with gleams of half - extinguished thought , With many recognitions dim and faint , And somewhat of a ...
... spirit , have I turned to thee , O sylvan Wye ! thou wanderer thro ' the woods , How often has my spirit turned to thee ! And now , with gleams of half - extinguished thought , With many recognitions dim and faint , And somewhat of a ...
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Vanliga ord och fraser
ballads beauty beneath blood breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron Canto Charles Lamb charm child Childe Harold cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight Don Juan doth dream earth EDWARD DOWDEN Emily Brontë eyes face fair fame fear feel flowers friends Fugitive Verses gaze gentle grave hand Hartley Coleridge hast hath heard heart heaven hill hour JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE Keats lady lake Leigh Hunt light live lone look mind moon mountains nature ne'er never night o'er once passion pleasure poems poet poetic poetry Roncesvalles round Samian wine scene shade Shelley shore silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit STANZAS stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas verse voice wandering waves weep wild wind Wordsworth youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 792 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Sida 459 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Sida 83 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will:...
Sida 825 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark: And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Sida 324 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Sida 42 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Sida 457 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Sida 129 - The night is chill ; the forest bare ; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Sida 283 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh ! night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong ; Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along From peak to peak the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! And this is in the night.
Sida 451 - ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.