Poems, Volumen2Wiley and Putnam, 1846 - 229 páginas |
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Página 170
... mean ! My speech is rude , but speech is weak Such love as mine to tell , Yet had I words , I dare not speak , So , Lady , fare thee well ; I will not wish thy better state Was one of low degree , But I must weep that partial fate Made ...
... mean ! My speech is rude , but speech is weak Such love as mine to tell , Yet had I words , I dare not speak , So , Lady , fare thee well ; I will not wish thy better state Was one of low degree , But I must weep that partial fate Made ...
Página 201
... means to lead us to the skies above , You say Sir Andrew and his love of law , And I - the Saviour with his law of love . Spontaneously to God should tend the soul , Like the magnetic needle to the Pole ; But what were that intrinsic ...
... means to lead us to the skies above , You say Sir Andrew and his love of law , And I - the Saviour with his law of love . Spontaneously to God should tend the soul , Like the magnetic needle to the Pole ; But what were that intrinsic ...
Página 204
... mean my wraith ! ) Such , may it please you , is my humble faith ; I know , full well , you do not like my works ! I have not sought , ' tis true , the Holy Land , As full of texts as Cuddie Headrigg's mother , The Bible in one hand ...
... mean my wraith ! ) Such , may it please you , is my humble faith ; I know , full well , you do not like my works ! I have not sought , ' tis true , the Holy Land , As full of texts as Cuddie Headrigg's mother , The Bible in one hand ...
Página 3
... means of living ? so stick to thy business and thy business will stick to thee . Of course , continued my mind , I am quite disinterested in this advice - for I am aware of my own immortality — but for that very reason , take care of ...
... means of living ? so stick to thy business and thy business will stick to thee . Of course , continued my mind , I am quite disinterested in this advice - for I am aware of my own immortality — but for that very reason , take care of ...
Página 8
... mean to bait our bull with him . There's plenty of New Rivers about , and we're going a fishing as soon as we have mended our top joint . We've killed one of our sheep on the sly to get gentles . We've a pony too , to ride upon when we ...
... mean to bait our bull with him . There's plenty of New Rivers about , and we're going a fishing as soon as we have mended our top joint . We've killed one of our sheep on the sly to get gentles . We've a pony too , to ride upon when we ...
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Términos y frases comunes
amongst Barbican beauty bird bloom blue breath bright brow called Charles Lamb cheeks clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight dream Dundee Eugene Aram eyes face fair fairy fancy fear fire flow'rs gaze gentle gloom gold golden green grief hair hand hath head heart heaven HERO AND LEANDER hope human Jean Bertaut Kilmansegg lady leaves light Lincolnshire lips literary living look Lord Lord Byron LYCUS melancholy melodious falls mind Miss moral morning Naiad never night o'er once pale pity poor PUGSLEY raining music rich rose round Saturn shade shadows shine sighs sing Sir Walter Scott sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit sweet tears thee There's thing THOMAS HOOD thou thought trees turn turn'd Twas voice walk wave weep whilst wind wings young yure
Pasajes populares
Página 194 - Oh but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, — With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
Página 184 - Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonour Death has left on her Only the beautiful.
Página 185 - Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — . Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Página 192 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
Página 145 - The swallows all have wing'd across the main ; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. Alone, alone, Upon a mossy stone, She sits and reckons up the dead and gone, With the last leaves for a love-rosary...
Página 112 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!
Página 84 - Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — The poets who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays...
Página 71 - Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relieved by any.
Página 116 - For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is haunted...
Página 186 - Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing, Fix'd on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurr'd by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour...