Das Naturgefühl in der englischen Dichtung im Zeitalter Miltons

Voorkant
Winter, 1915 - 131 pagina's
 

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Pagina 58 - What wondrous life is this I lead ! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine, and curious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Pagina 15 - So from the root Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves More airy, last the bright consummate flower Spirits odorous breathes: flowers and their fruit Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed To vital spirits aspire, to animal, To intellectual...
Pagina 108 - So the tall stag, upon the brink Of some smooth stream about to drink, Surveying there his armed head, With shame remembers that he fled The scorned dogs, resolves to try The combat next; but if their cry Invades again his trembling ear, He straight resumes his wonted care, Leaves the untasted spring behind, And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.
Pagina 50 - Art would more neatly have defac'd What she had laid so sweetly waste; In fragrant gardens, shady woods, Deep meadows, and transparent floods.
Pagina 47 - Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines ; Curl me about, ye gadding vines; And oh so close your circles lace, That I may never leave this place : But, lest your fetters prove too weak, . Ere I your silken bondage break, Do you, O brambles, chain me too, And, courteous briars, nail me through.* I was here as in a lonely temple.
Pagina 25 - Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind, Nor are ye worn with years ; Or warp'd as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep ; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet ? Or brought a kiss From that Sweet-heart, to this? — No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture...
Pagina 66 - All things are busy ; only I Neither bring honey with the bees, Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry To water these.
Pagina 62 - The sweet dash of a shower now shed, Invited him no more to hide Within himself the purple pride » Of his forward flower, when, lo ! While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling glories, Auster spied him, Cruel Auster thither hied him, And with the rush of one rude blast Shamed not spitefully to waste All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, And lay them trembling at his feet.
Pagina 25 - Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew?
Pagina 104 - A Crimson Garment in the Rose thou wear'st ; A Crown of studded Gold thou bear'st, The Virgin Lillies in their White, Are clad but with the Lawn of almost Naked Light.

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