Anthologia Anglica, a new selection from the English poets from Spenser to Shelley, with short literary notices by H. Williams |
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Side 7
... thee to them thy fruitless labours yield , And soon leave off this toilsome weary stour : Lo ! lo ! how brave she decks her bounteous bower , With silken curtains and gold coverlets , Therein to shroud her sumptuous belamour ; Yet ...
... thee to them thy fruitless labours yield , And soon leave off this toilsome weary stour : Lo ! lo ! how brave she decks her bounteous bower , With silken curtains and gold coverlets , Therein to shroud her sumptuous belamour ; Yet ...
Side 21
... Thee , Goddess , thee the winds , the clouds do fear , And when thou spreadst thy mantle forth on high , The waters play , and pleasant lands appear , And heavens laugh , and all the world shows joyous cheer . XLV ' Then doth the dædal ...
... Thee , Goddess , thee the winds , the clouds do fear , And when thou spreadst thy mantle forth on high , The waters play , and pleasant lands appear , And heavens laugh , and all the world shows joyous cheer . XLV ' Then doth the dædal ...
Side 22
... thee out of their leafy cages , And thee their mother call to cool their kindly rages . XLVII So all the world by thee at first was made , And daily yet thou dost the same repair ; Nor aught on earth that merry is and glad , Nor aught ...
... thee out of their leafy cages , And thee their mother call to cool their kindly rages . XLVII So all the world by thee at first was made , And daily yet thou dost the same repair ; Nor aught on earth that merry is and glad , Nor aught ...
Side 40
... thee , by Cupid's strongest bow , By his best arrow with the golden head , By the simplicity of Venus ' doves , By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves ; And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen , When the false Trojan ...
... thee , by Cupid's strongest bow , By his best arrow with the golden head , By the simplicity of Venus ' doves , By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves ; And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen , When the false Trojan ...
Side 41
... thee as thy wife ! Misery's love , O , come to me ! O , that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth Then with a passion would I shake the world ; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy , Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice , Which ...
... thee as thy wife ! Misery's love , O , come to me ! O , that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth Then with a passion would I shake the world ; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy , Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice , Which ...
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Anthologia Anglica, a New Selection from the English Poets from Spenser to ... Anthologia Anglica Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2019 |
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Author beauty behold beneath birds blood bower breast breath bright CATHERINE WINKWORTH charming clouds Comus Crown 8vo dark death deep delight divine doth dream e'en earth Edition English English poetry eternal eyes Faery Queen fair Faithful Shepherdess fame fancy fear flowers gaze genius gentle Giaour golden grace green groves hath hear heart heaven heavenly HISTORY JOHN STUART MILL JOHN TYNDALL King light live Lord melody Midsummer Night's Dream moon morn mortal mountain muse nature Nature's never night nymph o'er pain Paradise Paradise Lost passion pleasure poem poet poetic poetry Post 8vo Prometheus Unbound PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS Queen Queen Mab revised round scene seem'd shade sight sing sleep smiles soft song soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee thine thou art thought verse voice vols wave wild wind wings Woodcuts woods
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Side 58 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Side 34 - 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. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Side 280 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Side 163 - Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine...
Side 432 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night ; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again.
Side 143 - HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Side 215 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Side 76 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair ? for beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling ; To her let us garlands bring.
Side 277 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Side 32 - All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning give him the greater commendation. He was naturally learned. He needed not the spectacles of books to read nature. He looked inwards, and found her there.