Anthology of English Poetry: Beowulf to KiplingB.H. Sanborn & Company, 1903 - 432 pàgines |
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Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Anthology of English Poetry: Beowulf to Kipling Robert Naylor Whiteford Previsualització no disponible - 2009 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Adonais Æneid Alfred Tennyson Analyse Atalanta banyshed Beadsman beauty beneath Beowulf bird breast breath bright Burns Camelot Canto child cloud cold curse dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth English poetry eternal eyes fair fear flowers Gleam golden Grendel grief hair hand hath hear heard heart Heaven Hippomenes holy Hrothgar Il Penseroso Keats king L'Allegro Lady of Shalott light lines lips live Loch Achray look Lord Lycidas lyric Matthew Arnold Milton moon ne'er never night Note o'er Optional Poems pain Phrases pleasure poet Porphyro pride rose round sail Samian wine shadow Shelley sigh sing sleep smile song sonnet sorrow soul sound spirit stanza stars sweet tears Tennyson thee thine things thou art thought thro Tintern Abbey Twas voice waves weary weep wild wind Wordsworth wyll ΙΟ
Passatges populars
Pàgina 190 - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is...
Pàgina 205 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Pàgina 67 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Pàgina 67 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Pàgina 190 - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains, and of all that we behold From this green earth : of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create...
Pàgina 203 - Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. 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?
Pàgina 299 - 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.
Pàgina 298 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy...
Pàgina 272 - Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Pàgina 400 - The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; - on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.