The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language |
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Page 29
... woods before : Or if that any hand to touch thee deign , Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain . W. Drummond . O XXXIX BLIND LOVE ME ! what eyes hath love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight : Or if they ...
... woods before : Or if that any hand to touch thee deign , Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain . W. Drummond . O XXXIX BLIND LOVE ME ! what eyes hath love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight : Or if they ...
Page 49
... woods forth bring , Which he more harmless found than man , and mild . His food was locusts , and what there doth spring , With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; Parch'd body , hollow eyes , some uncouth thing Made him appear ...
... woods forth bring , Which he more harmless found than man , and mild . His food was locusts , and what there doth spring , With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; Parch'd body , hollow eyes , some uncouth thing Made him appear ...
Page 66
... thou art gone , Now thou art gone , and never must return ! Thee , Shepherd , thee the woods , and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown , And all their echoes , mourn : The willows and 66 The Golden Treasury.
... thou art gone , Now thou art gone , and never must return ! Thee , Shepherd , thee the woods , and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown , And all their echoes , mourn : The willows and 66 The Golden Treasury.
Page 71
... woods , and pastures new . J. Milton LXVII ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY MORTALITY , behold and fear What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie , had realms and ...
... woods , and pastures new . J. Milton LXVII ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY MORTALITY , behold and fear What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie , had realms and ...
Page 86
... , By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own , What are you , when the Rose is blown ? Ye curious ' chanters of the wood That warble forth 86 86 The Golden Treasury.
... , By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own , What are you , when the Rose is blown ? Ye curious ' chanters of the wood That warble forth 86 86 The Golden Treasury.
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Common terms and phrases
Arethuse beauty behold beneath birds blest bonnie bower breast breath bright Brignall brow cheek clouds County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA eyes fair Fancy fear flowers frae FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE gentle glory golden green happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven Heigh hills kiss lady leaves light live look'd Lord Lord Byron love's lover Lycidas lyre MARK LEMON mind morn mountains Muse ne'er never night nonny Nymph o'er P. B. Shelley pale passion Pindar pleasure poems poet Poetry round Rule Britannia seem'd shade Shakespeare shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee There's thine thou art thought tree Vellum voice waly waly waves weep whilst wild WILLIAM ALLINGHAM winds wings Wordsworth Yarrow youth
Popular passages
Page 15 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Page 76 - 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 22 - That time of year thou mayst 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 see'st 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 in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that...
Page 373 - Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 258 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Page 172 - Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Page 141 - 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 ! TO MERCY.
Page 299 - 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 174 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Page 10 - 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...