The Hundred Best Poems (lyrical) in the English Language |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 19
Page 2
... shore . Then come down . She will not come though you call all day . Come away , come away . Children dear , was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? In the caverns where we lay , Through the surf and through the swell ...
... shore . Then come down . She will not come though you call all day . Come away , come away . Children dear , was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? In the caverns where we lay , Through the surf and through the swell ...
Page 3
... shore to - day . ' Twill be Easter - time in the world - ah me ! And I lose my poor soul , Merman , here with thee . " I said ; " Go up , dear heart , through the waves . Say thy prayer , and come back to the kind sea - caves . " She ...
... shore to - day . ' Twill be Easter - time in the world - ah me ! And I lose my poor soul , Merman , here with thee . " I said ; " Go up , dear heart , through the waves . Say thy prayer , and come back to the kind sea - caves . " She ...
Page 11
... bloody . It's not the roar o ' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry , Nor shouts o ' war that's heard afar : It's leaving thee , my bonie Mary ! 10 . 11 . Of a ' the Airts . II ROBERT BROWNING . (1759 1796), The Silver Tassie,
... bloody . It's not the roar o ' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry , Nor shouts o ' war that's heard afar : It's leaving thee , my bonie Mary ! 10 . 11 . Of a ' the Airts . II ROBERT BROWNING . (1759 1796), The Silver Tassie,
Page 19
... is set . II . The Scian and the Teian muse , The Hero's harp , the Lover's lute , Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your Sires ' 19 LORD BYRON.
... is set . II . The Scian and the Teian muse , The Hero's harp , the Lover's lute , Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your Sires ' 19 LORD BYRON.
Page 20
... shore The heroic lay is tuneless now- The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy Lyre , so long divine , Degenerate into hands like mine ? VI . ' T is something , in the dearth of Fame , Though linked among a fettered race , To feel ...
... shore The heroic lay is tuneless now- The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy Lyre , so long divine , Degenerate into hands like mine ? VI . ' T is something , in the dearth of Fame , Though linked among a fettered race , To feel ...
Other editions - View all
The Hundred Best Poems (Lyrical) In the English Language (Classic Reprint) Adam L. Gowans No preview available - 2015 |
Common terms and phrases
AE fond kiss ALEXANDER POPE Arethuse beautiful ANNABEL LEE beneath birds blest bonie breast breath bright bright eyes brow canst child cloud dark darling buds dead death deep dost doth dream earth Edition eyes fair fear flowers glory golden slumber grave green happy hast hath haunt hear heard heart heaven hill holy John John Anderson kisses LADY NAIRNE land leal leaves light live look loud luve Lycidas Melancholy moan moon morn mountains Muse ne'er never night o'er old familiar faces Orpheus pale peace Pippa Passes praise rose Samian wine SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE shade shepherds shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smiles soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star stream summer's lease sweet tears Text Thammuz thee thine thou art thought trees unseen voice waves weep white-thorn wild winds wings youth
Popular passages
Page 49 - Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Page 89 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves, and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
Page 70 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 50 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Page 107 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
Page 77 - Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running,' Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
Page 125 - O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; 10 But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
Page 76 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, no And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Page 96 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Page 53 - Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?