LyricsHenry Van Dyke, Hardin Craig Doubleday, Page, 1905 |
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Resultater 1-5 af 16
Side x
... King " Burns 200 Pibroch of Donald Dhu · Scott 201 " Hail to the Chief who in Triumph Advances ! " " • · Scott 203 Cavalier Tunes · Browning 205 Rule , Britannia Thomson 208 England and America in 1782 Tennyson 209 My Dark Rosaleen ...
... King " Burns 200 Pibroch of Donald Dhu · Scott 201 " Hail to the Chief who in Triumph Advances ! " " • · Scott 203 Cavalier Tunes · Browning 205 Rule , Britannia Thomson 208 England and America in 1782 Tennyson 209 My Dark Rosaleen ...
Side 15
... John Lyly . SPRING From Summer's Last Will and Testament SPRING , the sweet Spring , is the year's pleasant king ; Then blooms each thing , then maids dance in a ring , Cold doth not sting , the pretty birds do sing 15 Lyly.
... John Lyly . SPRING From Summer's Last Will and Testament SPRING , the sweet Spring , is the year's pleasant king ; Then blooms each thing , then maids dance in a ring , Cold doth not sting , the pretty birds do sing 15 Lyly.
Side 17
... King Pandion , he is dead ; All thy friends are lapped in lead : All thy fellow - birds do sing , Careless of thy sorrowing ! Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled , Thou and I were both beguiled . Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in ...
... King Pandion , he is dead ; All thy friends are lapped in lead : All thy fellow - birds do sing , Careless of thy sorrowing ! Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled , Thou and I were both beguiled . Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in ...
Side 24
... white deserves A diamond for ever should it mark : This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love , to hear and recompense my love . Fair King , who all preserves , 20 Echo But show thy blushing beams , And thou two 24 Invocation.
... white deserves A diamond for ever should it mark : This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love , to hear and recompense my love . Fair King , who all preserves , 20 Echo But show thy blushing beams , And thou two 24 Invocation.
Side 66
... king ties my fumbling feet , Sings in my ears , my hands are stones , Curdles the blood to the marble bones , Tugs at the heart - strings , numbs the sense , And hems in life with narrowing fence . The Titmouse Well , in this broad bed ...
... king ties my fumbling feet , Sings in my ears , my hands are stones , Curdles the blood to the marble bones , Tugs at the heart - strings , numbs the sense , And hems in life with narrowing fence . The Titmouse Well , in this broad bed ...
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
beauty bells birds blow bonnie bosom breast breath bright cheek County Guy Cuckoo dare Dark Rosaleen dear delight dost doth dream earth eyes fair Farewell fear flowers golden green Hark hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Highlands kiss ladies light lips live look Lord Tennyson love thee Love's lover Luve Mary merry moon morning ne'er neir gone nest never night nightingale nonny o'er Percy Bysshe Shelley Richard Lovelace Robert Burns Robert Herrick rose Say nay shine shore sighs sing cuccu skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spring star-spangled banner stars stream sweet tears tell thine Thomas Thomas Campion Thomas Carew Thomas Hood thou art thoughts Titmouse tree unto voice wanton waves weary weep wild William Shakespeare wilt thou leave wind wings youth ΙΟ
Populære passager
Side 214 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Side 34 - Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Side 58 - That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!
Side 249 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep,...
Side 272 - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Side 159 - I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me — who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet ! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart; — As I must on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art!
Side 314 - Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon. My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Side 269 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER" I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!
Side 176 - Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand! The agate lamp within thy hand, Ah! Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!
Side 256 - Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : Then, heigh-ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not.