Golden Leaves from the British Poets |
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Page 33
... Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth , And lose you quite . But you are lovely leaves , where we May read how soon things have Their end , though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you ...
... Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth , And lose you quite . But you are lovely leaves , where we May read how soon things have Their end , though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you ...
Page 40
... twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises are in one , To live in paradise alone . How well the skilful gard❜ner drew Of flowers , and herbs , this dial new ! Where , from above , the milder sun Does through ...
... twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises are in one , To live in paradise alone . How well the skilful gard❜ner drew Of flowers , and herbs , this dial new ! Where , from above , the milder sun Does through ...
Page 59
... TWAS By Philip's warlike son— Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne ; His valiant peers were placed around , Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ( So should desert in arms be crown'd ) ; The lovely ...
... TWAS By Philip's warlike son— Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne ; His valiant peers were placed around , Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ( So should desert in arms be crown'd ) ; The lovely ...
Page 61
... Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures . War , he sung , is toil and trouble , Honcur but an empty bubble , Never ending , still ...
... Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures . War , he sung , is toil and trouble , Honcur but an empty bubble , Never ending , still ...
Page 88
... Twas built with turrets on a rising ground , And strong , and large , and unimproved around ; Its owner's temper , timorous and severe , Unkind and griping , caused a desert there . As near the miser's heavy door they drew , Fierce ...
... Twas built with turrets on a rising ground , And strong , and large , and unimproved around ; Its owner's temper , timorous and severe , Unkind and griping , caused a desert there . As near the miser's heavy door they drew , Fierce ...
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Common terms and phrases
art thou beauty beneath blessed blood blow bosom bower breast breath bright brow charm cheek cloud cowslips Cutty-sark dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair falchion fear flowers frae gaze gentle golden grace grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre holy hour king kiss lady land land of mist light lips live Lochaber Locksley Hall look Lord loud Lycidas lyre maid Marmion merry moon morn mother Muse ne'er never night nymph o'er pale passion pride Rory O'More rose round shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm sweet tale tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought Tis green Twas voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wing young youth
Popular passages
Page 358 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Page 99 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Page 19 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 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 224 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Page 36 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Page 103 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Page 123 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Page 40 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Page 100 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 223 - The Sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners...