Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 páginas |
Dentro del libro
Resultados 1-5 de 27
Página ix
... wood - gate softly clap , for fear The noise might drive her from her home of love 17 I heard a thousand blended notes , While in the grove I sat reclin'd . 19 Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls , That in the thickets of the ...
... wood - gate softly clap , for fear The noise might drive her from her home of love 17 I heard a thousand blended notes , While in the grove I sat reclin'd . 19 Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls , That in the thickets of the ...
Página x
... woods , a " prospect all on fire " We met in secret , in the depth of night When there was none to watch us Alas ! how changed from the fair scene , When birds sang out their mellow lay I could not pray : -through tears that fell in ...
... woods , a " prospect all on fire " We met in secret , in the depth of night When there was none to watch us Alas ! how changed from the fair scene , When birds sang out their mellow lay I could not pray : -through tears that fell in ...
Página xiii
... 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 red Uprose the morning sun 165 I looked at her , and looked again ...
... 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 red Uprose the morning sun 165 I looked at her , and looked again ...
Página xv
... woods- We'll set them gathering posies A low cottage in a sunny bay , 243 245 247 249 251 Where the salt sea innocuously breaks 253 Where new - launch'd ships of infant sailors ride 255 Tall trees , green arbours , and ground flowers in ...
... woods- We'll set them gathering posies A low cottage in a sunny bay , 243 245 247 249 251 Where the salt sea innocuously breaks 253 Where new - launch'd ships of infant sailors ride 255 Tall trees , green arbours , and ground flowers in ...
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 ...
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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
beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom bosom boughs bower breathe bride bright BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Cold fear Coloured cottage Cushlo-mo-chree DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gleam glide Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy hath heard heart heaven HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour JOHN FRANCIS WALLER lassie leaf light live lonely look luve Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy MOTHERWELL mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring stood stream summer tears thee 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...