A Book of English Sonnets |
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Page xvi
... weary pilgrims , chanting of your woe " " The world comes not to an end : her city - hives " " I will be what God made me , nor protest " " Ah heavenly joy ! But who hath ever heard " ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Sonnets from the ...
... weary pilgrims , chanting of your woe " " The world comes not to an end : her city - hives " " I will be what God made me , nor protest " " Ah heavenly joy ! But who hath ever heard " ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Sonnets from the ...
Page xviii
... Flitting Hope 122 Outstretched Hands 123 To the Beloved Dead 124- The Last of the Gods 125 The Silver Age 126 MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH More than Truth 127 MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH Love and Weariness 128 129 The World xviii.
... Flitting Hope 122 Outstretched Hands 123 To the Beloved Dead 124- The Last of the Gods 125 The Silver Age 126 MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH More than Truth 127 MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH Love and Weariness 128 129 The World xviii.
Page xix
MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH Love and Weariness 128 129 The World Well Lost ( xvII ) 130 The World Well Lost ( xv1 ) A. MARY F. ROBINSON Love , Death , and Art 131 Adam and Eve 132 WILLIAM CALDWELL ROSCOE “ Like a musician that with flying ...
MARK ANDRÉ RAFFALOVICH Love and Weariness 128 129 The World Well Lost ( xvII ) 130 The World Well Lost ( xv1 ) A. MARY F. ROBINSON Love , Death , and Art 131 Adam and Eve 132 WILLIAM CALDWELL ROSCOE “ Like a musician that with flying ...
Page 66
... weariness ; And in that dreadful company Distress And the sad Night with silent footsteps go . On my poor hearth the brands are scarce aglow , And in the woods without pale wanderers press ; Where , waning in the pines from less to less ...
... weariness ; And in that dreadful company Distress And the sad Night with silent footsteps go . On my poor hearth the brands are scarce aglow , And in the woods without pale wanderers press ; Where , waning in the pines from less to less ...
Page 77
... With steel and flame along the snow - girt ice ? Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang On dewy eves in spring , did they entice To gentler love than winter's icy fang ? O WEARY pilgrims , chanting of your woe , That 77 ROBERT BRIDGES.
... With steel and flame along the snow - girt ice ? Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang On dewy eves in spring , did they entice To gentler love than winter's icy fang ? O WEARY pilgrims , chanting of your woe , That 77 ROBERT BRIDGES.
Common terms and phrases
beauty behold better blind bliss blossom breath bright brow Castara cheek child crown Dante Gabriel Rossetti dark dead dear Death despair didst divine dost doth dream earth ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ERNEST DOWSON ERNEST MYERS EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON face fears feet FIONA MACLEOD fire flame flowers forget gold golden grace grave grey hair hand hath hear heart heaven HILAIRE BELLOC hope JEAN INGELOW Julian Fane Juliet kiss LAURENCE HOUSMAN life's lips live look Love's man's MATHILDE BLIND MATTHEW ARNOLD Messrs moan moon morn never night o'er Ozymandias pain pale passionate peace PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON praise remember rose round saith shrine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sonnets sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears thee thing thou art thought Time's truth wake waste watched weary wert wild wind wings youth
Popular passages
Page 50 - 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...
Page 16 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have expressed Even such a beauty as you master now.
Page 9 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Page 13 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all the rest.
Page 33 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
Page 37 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Page 48 - Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. // Near them, on the sand, / Half sunk, / a shattered visage lies, / whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, / Tell that its sculptor / well those passions read / Which yet survive, / stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, / and the heart that fed: // And on the pedestal / these words appear: // "My...
Page 53 - Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Page xxii - My true love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Page 14 - Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss. Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquered woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow.