The Poets of the Nineteenth CenturyRobert Aris Willmott Harper & Brothers, 1881 - 674 pages |
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... GONE .......... 463 WITHIN AND WITHOUT ... 527 . EDGAR ALLAN POE . EDWIN ATHERSTONE . THE RAVEN 466 BATTLE SCENES ....... 530 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW . 471 THE BALLAD OF RICHARD BURNELL ........ 533 MARY HOWITT . HYMN TO THE NIGHT ...
... GONE .......... 463 WITHIN AND WITHOUT ... 527 . EDGAR ALLAN POE . EDWIN ATHERSTONE . THE RAVEN 466 BATTLE SCENES ....... 530 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW . 471 THE BALLAD OF RICHARD BURNELL ........ 533 MARY HOWITT . HYMN TO THE NIGHT ...
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... gone , Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown . May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore , The parting words shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens , griev'd themselves at my concern , Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ...
... gone , Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown . May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore , The parting words shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens , griev'd themselves at my concern , Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ...
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... gone , They turn to sear and yellow . Should I praise Such false complexions , and for beauty take A look consumption - bred ? As soon , if grey Were mixt in young Louisa's tresses brown , I'd call it beautiful variety , And therefore ...
... gone , They turn to sear and yellow . Should I praise Such false complexions , and for beauty take A look consumption - bred ? As soon , if grey Were mixt in young Louisa's tresses brown , I'd call it beautiful variety , And therefore ...
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... gone ! Lady , he's dead and gone ! And at his head a green grass turfe , And at his heels a stone . " Within these holy cloysters long He languisht , and he dyed , Lamenting of a ladye's love , And ' playning of her pride . Here bore ...
... gone ! Lady , he's dead and gone ! And at his head a green grass turfe , And at his heels a stone . " Within these holy cloysters long He languisht , and he dyed , Lamenting of a ladye's love , And ' playning of her pride . Here bore ...
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... gone by . " Now , all his features lit , he rais'd his look , Then bent it thoughtful , and unclasp'd the book ; And whilst the hour - glass shed its silent sand , A tame opossum lick'd his wither'd hand . That sweetest light of slow ...
... gone by . " Now , all his features lit , he rais'd his look , Then bent it thoughtful , and unclasp'd the book ; And whilst the hour - glass shed its silent sand , A tame opossum lick'd his wither'd hand . That sweetest light of slow ...
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
The Poets of the Nineteenth Century Robert Aris Willmott,Evert Augustus Duyckinck Affichage du livre entier - 1858 |
Expressions et termes fréquents
Amelia Opie beam beauty beneath bird blue bosom Bouillabaisse bower breast breath bright brow charms cheek cloud dark dead dear deep delight DEN BOSCH Ditto dread dream earth F. O. C. Darley face fair fear flowers friends gaze gentle gleam glory grave green hand hast hath heard heart heaven hill hour James Godwin Kilmeny LEWESDON HILL light living lonely look lov'd morning mother murmur never night o'er ocean old oaken bucket pride rocks rose round SACK OF BALTIMORE scene seem'd shade shadow shining shore sigh sight silent Sir Bedivere sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream summer sweet tears thee thine thou art thought tree trembling Twas vale VISIT FROM ST voice W. D. Howells wandering wave weep wild wind wings wood youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 138 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Page 137 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild...
Page 155 - Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse ; and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. " She shall be sportive as the fawn, That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things.
Page 467 - Wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — Vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — Sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.
Page 368 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Page 137 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd 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.
Page 301 - And now when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Page 139 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the armed man.
Page 440 - Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more— but let what will be be, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride; for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword— and...
Page 443 - The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So...