Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 páginas |
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Página ix
... thou , bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed • Rudely torn From their fresh beds , and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands , left on the path to die The scentless and the scented rose · When the harvest moon was beaming ...
... thou , bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed • Rudely torn From their fresh beds , and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands , left on the path to die The scentless and the scented rose · When the harvest moon was beaming ...
Página x
... thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook 61 • My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky A sky of rose and gold was o'er us glowing , Around us was the morning breath of May Yon castled steep , Whose banner hangeth ...
... thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook 61 • My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky A sky of rose and gold was o'er us glowing , Around us was the morning breath of May Yon castled steep , Whose banner hangeth ...
Página xiii
... thou with me , and stoop to see The glories of the lane ! Among the woods , 159 And o'er the pathless rocks , I forced my way 161 That cottage , with its walls so white , and gabled roof so quaint 163 We walked along , while bright and ...
... thou with me , and stoop to see The glories of the lane ! Among the woods , 159 And o'er the pathless rocks , I forced my way 161 That cottage , with its walls so white , and gabled roof so quaint 163 We walked along , while bright and ...
Página 1
... head , With quips and cranks - what time the wood - lark there Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air . THE SUN . Most glorious art thou ! when from. 1 1 A holy-day-the frugal banquet spread On the fresh herbage near the fountain head ...
... head , With quips and cranks - what time the wood - lark there Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air . THE SUN . Most glorious art thou ! when from. 1 1 A holy-day-the frugal banquet spread On the fresh herbage near the fountain head ...
Página 2
THE SUN . Most glorious art thou ! when from thy pavilion Thou lookest forth at morning ; flinging wide Its curtain clouds of purple and vermilion , Dispensing life and light on every side ; Brightening the mountain cataract , dimly ...
THE SUN . Most glorious art thou ! when from thy pavilion Thou lookest forth at morning ; flinging wide Its curtain clouds of purple and vermilion , Dispensing life and light on every side ; Brightening the mountain cataract , dimly ...
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Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Beauties of English Landscape (Classic Reprint) Myles Birket Foster Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
Astòr beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom blue bosom boughs bower breathe bright brook BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Coloured cottage DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gilt edges gleam glide gloom Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy harebells hath heard heart heaven Helpmate HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour hung lassie light live lofty lonely look Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing skies sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring steep stone stood stream summer tears thine thou art thoughts trees vale village voice wandering waters waves wild winds winter woods WORDSWORTH Yarrow youth
Pasajes populares
Página 14 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Página 50 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Página 236 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Página 200 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Página 56 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Página 56 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Página 30 - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Página 232 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard, Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Página 222 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Página 122 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...