Comentarios de la gente - Escribir un comentario
No encontramos ningún comentario en los lugares habituales.
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Adonais Amen Corner Aphrodite Urania appears Author beautiful Bion Blackwood's Magazine Book Byron C. A. Buchheim C. S. Jerram criticism Crown 8vo dark dead death of Keats Dreams earth Echo Edited by C. A. Edition Extra fcap Editor Elegy Endymion English eternity expression flowers Gisborne Glossary Grammar Greek grief Harriet hyacinth Hyperion immortality Introduction and Notes John Keats Keats's lament Latin Leigh Hunt letter light living Lycidas M.A. Extra fcap M.A. Second Edition M.A. Third Edition means mind mortal Moschus Mountain Shepherds mourn for Adonais mourning Muse Narcissus nightingale paradise passage perhaps phrase Pisa Pisan edition poem poet poetical poetry Prometheus Prose Quarterly Review reader Revolt of Islam Rome Schools seems Selections sense Shelley sleep song sorrow soul spirit Splendour Stanza stiff covers suppose Syrian Tale tears thee things thou thought volume W. W. Skeat weep words writing written wrote youth
Página 114 - Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks : methinks I see her as an eagle, mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam...
Página 42 - Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in...
Página 134 - He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely : he doth bear His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear; Torturing th...
Página 86 - 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; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Página 97 - He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move 375 Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Página 95 - Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, Thou noteless blot on a remembered name! But be thyself, and know thyself to be! And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow; Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt — as now.
Página 83 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Página 81 - Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again; Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss shall all thoughts else survive, With food of saddest memory kept alive, Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais! I would give All that I am to be as thou now art! But I am chained to Time,, and cannot thence depart!
Página 75 - In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, And fed with true love tears, instead of dew; Most musical of mourners, weep anew!