The Book of Georgian Verse, Volumen1William Stanley Braithwaite Grant Richards, 1909 - 1313 páginas |
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Página 56
... death endure , Which gives the brave the keenest wound . How pale was then his true love's cheek When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! For never yet did Alpine snows So pale , or yet so chill appear . With faltering voice she ...
... death endure , Which gives the brave the keenest wound . How pale was then his true love's cheek When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! For never yet did Alpine snows So pale , or yet so chill appear . With faltering voice she ...
Página 57
... death , my death alone can show The pure , and lasting love I bore : Accept , O heaven ! of woes like ours , And let us , let us weep no more . ' 49 . The dismal scene was o'er and past , 57 GEORGIAN VERSE.
... death , my death alone can show The pure , and lasting love I bore : Accept , O heaven ! of woes like ours , And let us , let us weep no more . ' 49 . The dismal scene was o'er and past , 57 GEORGIAN VERSE.
Página 58
... death - bed , All under the willow - tree . Black his hair as the winter night , White his rode as the summer snow , Red his face as the morning light , Cold he lies in the grave below : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed , All ...
... death - bed , All under the willow - tree . Black his hair as the winter night , White his rode as the summer snow , Red his face as the morning light , Cold he lies in the grave below : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed , All ...
Página 59
... death - bed , All under the willow - tree . Hark ! the raven flaps his wing In the brier'd dell below ; Hark ! the death - owl loud doth sing To the nightmares , as they go : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed , All under the ...
... death - bed , All under the willow - tree . Hark ! the raven flaps his wing In the brier'd dell below ; Hark ! the death - owl loud doth sing To the nightmares , as they go : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed , All under the ...
Página 60
... death - bed All under the willow - tree . Come , with acorn - cup and thorn , Drain my heartès blood away ; Life and all its good I scorn , Dance by night , or feast by day : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed All under the ...
... death - bed All under the willow - tree . Come , with acorn - cup and thorn , Drain my heartès blood away ; Life and all its good I scorn , Dance by night , or feast by day : My love is dead , Gone to his death - bed All under the ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Arethusa auld auld lang syne baloo beauty beneath bird bless bloom bonnie Bonny Dundee bosom bower braes breast breath bright Brignall busk canna charms cheek dance dark dead dear death doth dream e'en e'er earth eyes fair fear flowers frae grave green ha'e hame hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills hour Inchcape Rock Kilmeny lady land lass lassie light lo'e look Lord Lord Byron loud maid maun moon morning ne'er never night o'er pain pale R. B. Sheridan rill rose round S. T. Coleridge shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit sweet tears tell thee There's thine thou art thought thro tree Twas voice W. S. Landor Warwickshire waves weel weep wild wind wings wyfe Yarrow youth
Pasajes populares
Página 843 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Página 962 - Ye mariners of England That guard our native seas ! Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe: And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow.
Página 573 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream — Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
Página 1153 - That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Página 223 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Página 607 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Página 570 - Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Página 937 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Página 1083 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd 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.
Página 169 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their Country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there!