The Chilswell Book of English PoetryRobert Bridges Longmans, Green, 1924 - 272 pagina's |
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Pagina 17
... hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing . Slowly and sadly we laid him down , From the field of his fame fresh and gory : We carved not a line , we raised not a stone , But we left ...
... hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing . Slowly and sadly we laid him down , From the field of his fame fresh and gory : We carved not a line , we raised not a stone , But we left ...
Pagina 25
... , thousand of years , If all were told : Give to these children , new from the world , Silence and love ; And the long dew - dropping hours of the night , And the stars above : Give to these children , new from the world , 25.
... , thousand of years , If all were told : Give to these children , new from the world , Silence and love ; And the long dew - dropping hours of the night , And the stars above : Give to these children , new from the world , 25.
Pagina 60
... hour , That agony returns : And till my ghastly tale is told , This heart within me burns . ' I pass , like night , from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see , I know the man that must hear me ...
... hour , That agony returns : And till my ghastly tale is told , This heart within me burns . ' I pass , like night , from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see , I know the man that must hear me ...
Pagina 63
... , The lightest wind was in its nest , The tempest in its home . The whispering waves were half asleep , The clouds were gone to play , And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay ; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from 63.
... , The lightest wind was in its nest , The tempest in its home . The whispering waves were half asleep , The clouds were gone to play , And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay ; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from 63.
Pagina 64
Robert Bridges. It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies , Which scatter'd from above the sun A light of Paradise . II We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste , Tortured by storms to shapes as rude ...
Robert Bridges. It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies , Which scatter'd from above the sun A light of Paradise . II We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste , Tortured by storms to shapes as rude ...
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
bear beauty beneath birds blow breath bright close cloud cold comes dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear fire flowers give glory gone grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hour John keep king land leaves less lies light live look Lord loud mind moon morning move Nature never night o'er once pain peace play poem rest Ring rise round Shakespeare ship shore silent sing sleep song soon soul sound spirit Spring stand stars stood stream sweet tears tell thee things thou thou art thought thousand tree true voice waters waves weary wide wild wind wings woods youth
Populaire passages
Pagina 176 - 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.
Pagina 102 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war,— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Pagina 174 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, > Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Pagina 85 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Pagina 18 - O Captain! My Captain! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
Pagina 26 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Pagina 199 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks,* and wanton* wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Pagina 203 - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 140 With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Pagina 4 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Pagina 194 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.