Wordsworth to DobellThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan and Company, 1883 |
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Pagina 3
... speak of nothing more than what we are , Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep Of Death , and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures ; while my voice proclaims How exquisitely the individual mind ( And the progressive ...
... speak of nothing more than what we are , Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep Of Death , and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures ; while my voice proclaims How exquisitely the individual mind ( And the progressive ...
Pagina 9
... speak of these , That justice may be done , obeisance paid Where it is due : thus haply shall I teach , Inspire , through unadulterated ears Pour rapture , tenderness , and hope - my theme No other than the very heart of man , As found ...
... speak of these , That justice may be done , obeisance paid Where it is due : thus haply shall I teach , Inspire , through unadulterated ears Pour rapture , tenderness , and hope - my theme No other than the very heart of man , As found ...
Pagina 17
... speaking , That nothing of itself will come , But we must still be seeking ! -Then ask not wherefore , here , alone , Conversing as I may , I sit upon this old grey stone , And dream my time away . ' ( 1798. ) VOL . IV . THE TABLES ...
... speaking , That nothing of itself will come , But we must still be seeking ! -Then ask not wherefore , here , alone , Conversing as I may , I sit upon this old grey stone , And dream my time away . ' ( 1798. ) VOL . IV . THE TABLES ...
Pagina 43
... speak of Yarrow ! ' Oh ! green , ' said I , ' are Yarrow's holms , And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock1 , But we will leave it growing . O'er hilly path , and open strath , We'll wander Scotland thorough ...
... speak of Yarrow ! ' Oh ! green , ' said I , ' are Yarrow's holms , And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock1 , But we will leave it growing . O'er hilly path , and open strath , We'll wander Scotland thorough ...
Pagina 56
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
... speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now , the glory and the dream ? 5 . Our birth is but a sleep and a 56 THE ENGLISH POETS .
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Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
ballads beauty beneath Beppo breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron Canto Charles Lamb Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight Don Juan doth dream earth EDWARD DOWDEN Emily Brontë English eyes face fair fame fear feel flowers friends gaze genius gentle Giaour grave green hand happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath heard heart heaven hill hope hour human Keats lady lake Leigh Hunt light live lone look mind moon mountains nature ne'er never night o'er once PARISINA passion poems poet poetic poetry round Samian wine scene shade Shelley shore silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought trees Twas verse voice wandering waves weary wild wind Wordsworth youth
Populaire passages
Pagina 280 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll [ Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Pagina 28 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
Pagina 363 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given. The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ! Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Pagina 405 - Fade, far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Pagina 411 - 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.
Pagina 278 - 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.
Pagina 281 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime, — The image of Eternity, — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Pagina 331 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawakened earth...
Pagina 407 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth...
Pagina 407 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.