Woodland and Wild: A Selection of Descriptive PoetrySeeley, Jackson, and Halliday, 1868 - 132 pages |
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Page 25
... rose embowered In its own green leaves , By warm winds deflowered , Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy - winged thieves . Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass , Rain - awakened flowers , All ...
... rose embowered In its own green leaves , By warm winds deflowered , Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy - winged thieves . Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass , Rain - awakened flowers , All ...
Page 42
... rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon : The grasshoppers are still ; but not so soon Are still the noisy crows . The dormouse squats and eats Choice little dainty bits Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime ; Nibbling his ...
... rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon : The grasshoppers are still ; but not so soon Are still the noisy crows . The dormouse squats and eats Choice little dainty bits Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime ; Nibbling his ...
Page 46
... rose o'er blown ! But the autumn night Has a piercing sight , And a step both strong and free ; And a voice for wonder , Like the wrath of the thunder , When he shouts to the stormy sea ! And the winter night Is all cold and white , And ...
... rose o'er blown ! But the autumn night Has a piercing sight , And a step both strong and free ; And a voice for wonder , Like the wrath of the thunder , When he shouts to the stormy sea ! And the winter night Is all cold and white , And ...
Page 64
... rose , sweetbriar , eglantine , All these pretty names are mine , And scent in every leaf is mine , And a leaf for all is mine , And the scent - oh , that's divine ! Happy - sweet and pungent - fine , Pure as dew , and pick'd as wine ...
... rose , sweetbriar , eglantine , All these pretty names are mine , And scent in every leaf is mine , And a leaf for all is mine , And the scent - oh , that's divine ! Happy - sweet and pungent - fine , Pure as dew , and pick'd as wine ...
Page 65
... rose , With its fine foreign name , is scentless , pale , Compared with the old cabbage - those that blushed In the thick hedge of spiky lavender— Such lavender as is not now - a - days ; And gilly - flowers are not as they were then ...
... rose , With its fine foreign name , is scentless , pale , Compared with the old cabbage - those that blushed In the thick hedge of spiky lavender— Such lavender as is not now - a - days ; And gilly - flowers are not as they were then ...
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Expressions et termes fréquents
A. H. Clough Autumn beauty beneath birds blast blue bough bower breast breath breeze bright brook buds busy bee calm Christina Rossetti cloud crimson skies curious pastime dead deep delight doth dream earth faint fair fall feet flowers forest fresh gale gentle glad gleam glen glowworm golden grass green grove happy hath hear heard heart heaven hills Isa Craig lazy Kate leaf leaves light LIME BLOSSOMS lonely loud March month moon morning mountain murmuring nest night nook o'er ocean pale pinx rain rills rise river Rosa Bonheur rose round S. T. Coleridge shade shine side silent sing skies sleep smile snow soft song spring stars stream summer sweet swelling thee ther things thou art thou busy thought thunder tree vale voice vrom wake waves wild wind wings winter woods Wordsworth yarms yellow
Fréquemment cités
Page 25 - Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view...
Page 93 - 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.
Page 93 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue...
Page 26 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 114 - The melancholy days are come, The saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, And meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, The autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, And to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, And from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow, Through all the gloomy day.
Page 24 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire...
Page 37 - Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams.
Page 17 - I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
Page 30 - Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight : With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Page 13 - To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.