The Golden Pomp: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to ShirleyArthur Quiller-Couch |
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Page vii
... Sleep , O Sleep ! ' from an Ode ( even though it be not a true Pindaric ) such as Spenser's ' Epithalamion , ' or a Ballad such as Drayton's ' Agincourt . ' 6 The epoch of Italian influence upon English song - of that influence which ...
... Sleep , O Sleep ! ' from an Ode ( even though it be not a true Pindaric ) such as Spenser's ' Epithalamion , ' or a Ballad such as Drayton's ' Agincourt . ' 6 The epoch of Italian influence upon English song - of that influence which ...
Page 38
... sleep ! The fairy - queen Proserpina Bids you awake and pity them that weep . You may do in the dark What the day doth forbid ; Fear not the dogs that bark , Night will have all hid . But if you let your lovers moan , The fairy - queen ...
... sleep ! The fairy - queen Proserpina Bids you awake and pity them that weep . You may do in the dark What the day doth forbid ; Fear not the dogs that bark , Night will have all hid . But if you let your lovers moan , The fairy - queen ...
Page 47
... sleep , such bliss , Beggars enjoy , when princes oft do miss . The homely house that harbours quiet rest , The cottage that affords nor pride nor care , The mean that ' grees with country music best , The sweet consort of mirth and ...
... sleep , such bliss , Beggars enjoy , when princes oft do miss . The homely house that harbours quiet rest , The cottage that affords nor pride nor care , The mean that ' grees with country music best , The sweet consort of mirth and ...
Page 52
... sleeps as sound As doth a king upon his beds of down ; More sounder too ; For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill , Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : Ah then , ah then , If country loves such sweet desires do ...
... sleeps as sound As doth a king upon his beds of down ; More sounder too ; For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill , Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : Ah then , ah then , If country loves such sweet desires do ...
Page 53
... sleep not so sound as sweet . Nor can these figures so thy rest endear As not to up when chanticleer Speaks the last watch , but with the dawn dost rise To work , but first to sacrifice : Making thy peace with Heaven for some late fault ...
... sleep not so sound as sweet . Nor can these figures so thy rest endear As not to up when chanticleer Speaks the last watch , but with the dawn dost rise To work , but first to sacrifice : Making thy peace with Heaven for some late fault ...
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Common terms and phrases
Anon ANTHONY HOPE Author babe Baring Gould beauty behold birds Book of Airs bright Buckram Campion Corydon Crown 8vo cuckoo dear death delight dost doth E. F. BENSON earth England's Helicon English eyes fair fairy-queen fear flowers GILBERT PARKER Gordon Browne grace green Greensleeves grief H. C. BEECHING hath heart heaven Heigh Herrick honour Illustrated JOHN KEBLE Jonson king kiss Lady leave light lips live look Lord Love's lovers lullaby Madrigals maid merry MESSRS METHUEN'S LIST mind morn never night nonny pity pleasure poem praise pretty Prisoner of Zenda Queen rose Shakespeare shepherd sighs sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spring stanzas story swain tears Tereu thee thine things thou art thou hast thought true love unto verse volume W. E. HENLEY W. G. COLLINGWOOD waly wanton weep wind winter youth
Popular passages
Page 116 - 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 express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Page 22 - When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds, of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight ; The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he :Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Page 199 - How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords...
Page 275 - A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Page 142 - 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 245 - And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white, When lofty trees I see barren of leaves Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow ; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Page 41 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, — In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.
Page 245 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Page 105 - As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made...
Page 172 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...