The Poetical Works of John Keats: With a LifeLittle, Brown. Shepard, Clark and Brown, 1859 - 438 pages |
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Page 14
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , tur- tles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
... Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx - do thou now , By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran , Hear us , great Pan ! " O thou , for whose soul - soothing quiet , tur- tles Passion their voices cooingly ' mong myrtles ...
Page 15
With a Life John Keats. х Thou , to whom every faun and satyr flies For willing service ; whether to surprise The squatted hare while in half - sleeping fit ; Or upward ragged precipices flit To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw ...
With a Life John Keats. х Thou , to whom every faun and satyr flies For willing service ; whether to surprise The squatted hare while in half - sleeping fit ; Or upward ragged precipices flit To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw ...
Page 22
... thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May , As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes , the very ...
... thou art as a dove Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings About me ; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May , As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes , the very ...
Page 23
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . aught Hast thou sinn'd in Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
... thou dost know of things mysterious , Immortal , starry ; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature . aught Hast thou sinn'd in Offensive to the heavenly powers ? Caught A Paphian dove upon a message sent ? Thy deathful bow against ...
Page 27
... thou a symbol of her golden hair ? Not oat - sheaves drooping in the western sun ; Not - thy soft hand , fair sister ! let me shun Such follying before thee - yet she had , Indeed , locks bright enough to make me mad ; And they were ...
... thou a symbol of her golden hair ? Not oat - sheaves drooping in the western sun ; Not - thy soft hand , fair sister ! let me shun Such follying before thee - yet she had , Indeed , locks bright enough to make me mad ; And they were ...
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Expressions et termes fréquents
Adieu Apollo Arethusa art thou Bacchus beauty beneath bliss blue bower breast breath bright Carian CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE cheek chidden clouds Corinth dark death deep delight divine dost doth dream earth Elysium Enceladus Endymion eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle golden green grief hair hand happy head heart heaven Hermes Hyperion Keats kiss Lamia leaves light lips lone look lute Lycius lyre melodies moon morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymph o'er once pain pale pass'd passion pleasant pleasure poet rill ring-dove rose round Saturn Satyrs Scylla seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice warm weep whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 287 - 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...
Page 197 - Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage : not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
Page 288 - 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 369 - My spirit is too weak — Mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Page ix - And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority...
Page 302 - To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, 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'erbrimmed their clammy cells.
Page 390 - I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried— "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
Page 202 - Of fruits and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush 'd with blood of queens and kings.
Page 418 - Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors: — No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, — or else swoon to death.
Page 198 - Good Saints! not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.