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bear beauty bells beneath blue brave breath bright charms Christmas close cloud dark dead dear death deep dream earth ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING eyes face fair fall fame fear fields fire flowers gave give glow gold grace grave green half hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hold hour human JOHN joys keep King laid land leave light lips living look Lord mind nature never night o'er once pass past poetry poor praise pride rest rolled rose round seemed shade shine shore side sing smile song soul sound spirit spring stand stars stood strong sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tide towers turned voice wall wave wild wind wonder
Stran xxxii - 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.
Stran 88 - Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells; In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.
Stran 161 - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene...
Stran 87 - HEAR the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Stran 169 - No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear...
Stran 73 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.
Stran 39 - Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Stran 81 - A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Stran lii - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.