Wordsworth to DobellThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan and Company, 1880 |
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Page 10
... strange to his age ; it has ceased to be so to In various ways and with varying merit , Thackeray and Dickens and George Eliot , and a crowd of writers , poets and novel- ists , have searched out the motifs of the highest poetry in the ...
... strange to his age ; it has ceased to be so to In various ways and with varying merit , Thackeray and Dickens and George Eliot , and a crowd of writers , poets and novel- ists , have searched out the motifs of the highest poetry in the ...
Page 43
... Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn ; My True - love sighed for sorrow ; And looked me in the face , to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! ' Oh ! green , ' said I , ' are Yarrow's holms , And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair ...
... Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn ; My True - love sighed for sorrow ; And looked me in the face , to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! ' Oh ! green , ' said I , ' are Yarrow's holms , And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair ...
Page 70
... strange that all The terrors , pains , and early miseries , Regrets , vexations , lassitudes interfused Within my mind , should e'er have borne a part , And that a needful part , in making up The calm existence that is mine when I Am ...
... strange that all The terrors , pains , and early miseries , Regrets , vexations , lassitudes interfused Within my mind , should e'er have borne a part , And that a needful part , in making up The calm existence that is mine when I Am ...
Page 100
... wet the while ; - Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart endure , Which hopes from thee , and thee alone , a cure . NOVEMBER , 1793 . There is strange music in the 100 THE ENGLISH POETS . Written at Ostend Influence of Time on Grief.
... wet the while ; - Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart endure , Which hopes from thee , and thee alone , a cure . NOVEMBER , 1793 . There is strange music in the 100 THE ENGLISH POETS . Written at Ostend Influence of Time on Grief.
Page 101
Thomas Humphry Ward. NOVEMBER , 1793 . There is strange music in the stirring wind , When lowers the autumnal eve , and all alone To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone , Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined Rock , and ...
Thomas Humphry Ward. NOVEMBER , 1793 . There is strange music in the stirring wind , When lowers the autumnal eve , and all alone To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone , Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined Rock , and ...
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Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Expressions et termes fréquents
Adonais Adosinda Ancient Mariner ballads beauty beneath blood breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron calm Canto Charles Lamb charm Childe Harold Christabel cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight Don Juan doth dream earth EDWARD DOWDEN eyes fair fame fear feel flowers friends Fugitive Verses gaze gentle grace grave green hand hath heard heart heaven hill hope hour JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE Keats lady lake Leigh Hunt light living lone look Marmion mind moon mountain nature ne'er never night o'er once passion pleasure poems poet poetic poetry Roncesvalles round Samian wine scene Scott shade Shelley silent sing Siverian sleep smile song sorrow soul Southey spirit stars stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought twas verse voice wandering waves weep wild wind woods Wordsworth youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 15 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive ; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.
Page 369 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth ! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawakened earth...
Page 78 - Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Page 449 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Page 316 - 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.
Page 277 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime, — The image of Eternity, — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Page 13 - To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened : — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, • — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul : While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and...
Page 445 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : — do I wake or sleep ? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.
Page 445 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Page 449 - 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, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.