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Overige edities - Alles weergeven
The Rhyme and Reason of Country Life, Or, Selections from Fields Old and New
Susan Fenimore Cooper
Volledige weergave - 1855
Alfeed amid autumn ayen beams beauty beneath birds bloom blossoms bonnie boy boughs bowers breast breath bright buds charms cheerful cloud cuckoo dance dark delight derry dost doth earth fair Fairlop field FKOM THK flocks flowers forest fresh gale garden gentle Giles Fletcher golden grass green Grongar Hill grove happy hast hath hear heart heaven hill hour hues John Milton Katydid leaf leaves light live look meadows mede merry morning mountain murmuring Nature never night nightingale nymph o'er plain pleasure poet purple rich rill rock rose round shade shine showers sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spide spring storm stream summer sweet tempests thee thine things Thou art thought thrushes Translation tree unto vale voice wandering wave weleome wild William Gilpin William Shenstone wind wings winter woods youth
Pagina 82 - Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? — GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
Pagina 96 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Pagina 404 - Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.
Pagina 168 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending...
Pagina 174 - GOD ALMIGHTY first planted a Garden. And indeed it is the purest of human pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man; without which buildings and palaces are but gross...
Pagina 105 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Pagina 168 - Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; 0 listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands : A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Pagina 416 - QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space, to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st...
Pagina 209 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.