The English Poets, Volym 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1901 |
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Sida 13
... thy king , His zeal to God , and his just awe o'er men : They may , blood - shaken then , Feel such a flesh - quake to possess their powers , As they shall cry : ' Like ours In sound of peace or wars , No harp e'er BEN JONSON . 13.
... thy king , His zeal to God , and his just awe o'er men : They may , blood - shaken then , Feel such a flesh - quake to possess their powers , As they shall cry : ' Like ours In sound of peace or wars , No harp e'er BEN JONSON . 13.
Sida 23
... feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death , With holy Paul , lest it be thought the breath Of discontent ; or that these prayers be For ...
... feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death , With holy Paul , lest it be thought the breath Of discontent ; or that these prayers be For ...
Sida 44
... feel that we are standing on different ground . Of the passages here selected some belong indubitably to Fletcher alone , and one , certainly the grandest , to Beaumont alone . The great lines On the Tombs in Westminster are written in ...
... feel that we are standing on different ground . Of the passages here selected some belong indubitably to Fletcher alone , and one , certainly the grandest , to Beaumont alone . The great lines On the Tombs in Westminster are written in ...
Sida 61
... feel as if we were present at a hellish carnival of passion . There is no relief to its horrors , except the rapturous exultation of brother and sister in their guilty love . The revolting coarseness of the low - comedy scenes is not a ...
... feel as if we were present at a hellish carnival of passion . There is no relief to its horrors , except the rapturous exultation of brother and sister in their guilty love . The revolting coarseness of the low - comedy scenes is not a ...
Sida 62
... feel the force by which it is animated . Even in his songs , with all the softness of their music , we are conscious of the same severely regulating All his few songs are of a sad strain , but they are not filled with the ecstasy of ...
... feel the force by which it is animated . Even in his songs , with all the softness of their music , we are conscious of the same severely regulating All his few songs are of a sad strain , but they are not filled with the ecstasy of ...
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Vanliga ord och fraser
Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw death delight dost doth earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fear fire flame Fletcher flowers gentle GEORGE WITHER Giles Fletcher glory grace Habington hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Inner Temple Jonson kings kiss Lady light lines live Lord Lover's Melancholy Lycidas maid Milton mind mistress Muse never night numbers o'er odes Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion pastoral Perilla pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rose shades shepherds shine sigh sing sleep SONG sonnet soul spirit spring stars stream sweet tears thee thine things THOMAS CAREW thought unto verse Waller wanton weep WILLIAM HABINGTON winds wings Wither write youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 458 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Sida 310 - Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, II Penseroso 105 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
Sida 337 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Sida 313 - Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold, The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy in sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes' or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age, Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
Sida 218 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Sida 386 - s made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide : There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Sida 482 - Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain: Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Sida 274 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small...
Sida 308 - Where the great Sun begins his state, Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Sida 329 - Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth Rose out of Chaos...