Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 sidor |
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Resultat 1-5 av 17
Sida xii
... pass the Sabbath noon And coming to the Banks of Tone , There did she rest She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree , And other home hath none Maids at the wheel , the weaver at his loom , Sit blithe and happy A love that shall be new and ...
... pass the Sabbath noon And coming to the Banks of Tone , There did she rest She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree , And other home hath none Maids at the wheel , the weaver at his loom , Sit blithe and happy A love that shall be new and ...
Sida 34
... passing eye , Low lies that house where nut - brown draughts inspired , Where greybeard mirth and smiling toil retired , Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound , And news much older than their ale went round . Imagination ...
... passing eye , Low lies that house where nut - brown draughts inspired , Where greybeard mirth and smiling toil retired , Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound , And news much older than their ale went round . Imagination ...
Sida 86
... passing hour sheds tribute from her wing ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk , And loves unfelt attract him . Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow , not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence , not a strain From all the ...
... passing hour sheds tribute from her wing ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk , And loves unfelt attract him . Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow , not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence , not a strain From all the ...
Sida 94
... pass into a stranger's hand , I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave . Our Luke shall leave us , Isabel : the land Shall not go from us , and it shall be free . We have , thou know'st , Another kinsman -- he will be our friend ...
... pass into a stranger's hand , I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave . Our Luke shall leave us , Isabel : the land Shall not go from us , and it shall be free . We have , thou know'st , Another kinsman -- he will be our friend ...
Sida 104
... pass Light as the wind along the grass . Can this be he who hither came In secret , like a smothered flame ? O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter , and a poor man's bread ! God loves the Child ; and God hath willed That ...
... pass Light as the wind along the grass . Can this be he who hither came In secret , like a smothered flame ? O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter , and a poor man's bread ! God loves the Child ; and God hath willed That ...
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Astòr beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom blue bosom boughs bower breathe bright brook BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Coloured cottage DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gilt edges gleam glide gloom Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy harebells hath heard heart heaven Helpmate HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour hung lassie light live lofty lonely look Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing skies sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring steep stone stood stream summer tears thine thou art thoughts trees vale village voice wandering waters waves wild winds winter woods WORDSWORTH Yarrow youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 14 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Sida 50 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Sida 236 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Sida 200 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Sida 56 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Sida 56 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Sida 30 - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Sida 232 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard, Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Sida 222 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Sida 122 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...