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Anna Seward beauty birds bloom bosom breath bright brow calm CHARLES LAMB charm clouds dark dear death deep delight divine doth dreams earth ENGLISH SONNETS eyes Faerie Queene fair fancy fear feel flowers gaze gentle glory glow golden grace happy hath heart heaven hills hope hour Italian Italian language Italian poetry Italy lady LEIGH HUNT light live lone look melody mind morn mournful murmur muse nature neath never night o'er pale passion Petrarca poems poet poetical poetry pure quatrains rhymes rills SARAH JOSEPHA HALE seems Shakespeare shine sighs silent sing sleep smile soft song sonnet sorrow soul spirit spring star strange streams sunny sweet tears thee thine things Thomas Warton thou art thought truth twilight Varchi Veronica Gambara verse voice wandering waves weary wild winds wings words Wordsworth
Pàgina 242 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration: the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly.
Pàgina 241 - Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men. Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Pàgina 183 - LAWRENCE ! of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining ? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily' and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
Pàgina 164 - Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Pàgina 184 - Purification in the old Law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind: Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight, Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear, as in no face with more delight. But O as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
Pàgina 278 - 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.
Pàgina 269 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Pàgina 163 - From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew ; Nor did...