A Thousand and One Gems of English PoetryGeorge Routledge & Sons, Limited, 1896 - 633 strani |
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Zadetki 1–5 od 100
Stran 4
... never cease . That thing to wishe whereof synce I did lose the sight , Was never thing that mought in ought iny wofull hart delight . Th ' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete , The floods , the seas , the land , the hills ...
... never cease . That thing to wishe whereof synce I did lose the sight , Was never thing that mought in ought iny wofull hart delight . Th ' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete , The floods , the seas , the land , the hills ...
Stran 20
... NEVER SATISFILS THE MIND . A GOOD that never satisfies the mind , A beauty fading like the April flow'rs , A sweet with floods of gall , that runs combin'd A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours , An 20 A THOUSAND AND ONE GEMS .
... NEVER SATISFILS THE MIND . A GOOD that never satisfies the mind , A beauty fading like the April flow'rs , A sweet with floods of gall , that runs combin'd A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours , An 20 A THOUSAND AND ONE GEMS .
Stran 29
... never like again to see . " O Death ! that hast us of such riches reft , Tell us , at least , what hast thou with it done ? What is become of him whose flower here left Is but the shadow of his likeness gone ? Sith death their fairest ...
... never like again to see . " O Death ! that hast us of such riches reft , Tell us , at least , what hast thou with it done ? What is become of him whose flower here left Is but the shadow of his likeness gone ? Sith death their fairest ...
Stran 30
... never feeling pain : For what so goodly form he there doth see He may enjoy , from jealous rancour free . " There liveth he in everlasting bliss , Sweet Spirit ! never fearing more to die , Ne dreading harm from any foes of his , Ne ...
... never feeling pain : For what so goodly form he there doth see He may enjoy , from jealous rancour free . " There liveth he in everlasting bliss , Sweet Spirit ! never fearing more to die , Ne dreading harm from any foes of his , Ne ...
Stran 32
... never know defeat , Never can rebel . Such the love that I would gain , Such the love , I tell thee plain , Thou must give , or woo in vain ; So to thee farewell . [ THOMAS LODGE . 1556-1625 . ] ROSALIND'S COMPLAINT . LOVE in my bosom ...
... never know defeat , Never can rebel . Such the love that I would gain , Such the love , I tell thee plain , Thou must give , or woo in vain ; So to thee farewell . [ THOMAS LODGE . 1556-1625 . ] ROSALIND'S COMPLAINT . LOVE in my bosom ...
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ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
Priljubljeni odlomki
Stran 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Stran 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Stran 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Stran 273 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Stran 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Stran 103 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Stran 274 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Stran 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Stran 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Stran 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.