Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 sidor |
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Sida xiii
... pleasure , and his gain 169 And gentle winds , and waters near , Make music to the lonely ear 171 She has a Baby on her arm , Or else she were alone 173 His flock the chief concern he ever knew 175 And she shall lean her ear In many a ...
... pleasure , and his gain 169 And gentle winds , and waters near , Make music to the lonely ear 171 She has a Baby on her arm , Or else she were alone 173 His flock the chief concern he ever knew 175 And she shall lean her ear In many a ...
Sida 18
... pleasure . The budding twigs spread out their fan , To catch the breezy air ; And I must think , do all I can , That there was pleasure there . If I these thoughts may not prevent , If such be of my creed the plan , Have I not reason to ...
... pleasure . The budding twigs spread out their fan , To catch the breezy air ; And I must think , do all I can , That there was pleasure there . If I these thoughts may not prevent , If such be of my creed the plan , Have I not reason to ...
Sida 22
... pleasure nourished , tracing here An emblem of his own unfruitful life : And , lifting up his head , he then would gaze On the more distant scene , -how lovely ' t is Thou seest , and he would gaze till it became Far lovelier , and his ...
... pleasure nourished , tracing here An emblem of his own unfruitful life : And , lifting up his head , he then would gaze On the more distant scene , -how lovely ' t is Thou seest , and he would gaze till it became Far lovelier , and his ...
Sida 30
... pleasures , and the love Which to an only Brother he has borne In all his hardships . Towards the Church - yard he had turned aside , — That , as he knew in what particular spot His family were laid , he thence might learn If still his ...
... pleasures , and the love Which to an only Brother he has borne In all his hardships . Towards the Church - yard he had turned aside , — That , as he knew in what particular spot His family were laid , he thence might learn If still his ...
Sida 50
... glens endear my Esthwaite's shore , And memory of departed pleasures , more . WORDSWORTH . CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME . THE WORLD WITH US 50 59 His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes, Through crags and forest glooms and opening lakes.
... glens endear my Esthwaite's shore , And memory of departed pleasures , more . WORDSWORTH . CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME . THE WORLD WITH US 50 59 His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes, Through crags and forest glooms and opening lakes.
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beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom bosom boughs bower breathe bride bright BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Cold fear Coloured cottage Cushlo-mo-chree DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gleam glide Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy hath heard heart heaven HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour JOHN FRANCIS WALLER lassie leaf light live lonely look luve Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy MOTHERWELL mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring stood stream summer tears thee 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...