A Thousand and One Gems of English PoetryGeorge Routledge & Sons, Limited, 1896 - 633 Seiten |
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Seite 3
... delight ; Or who can tell thy loss if thou mayst once recover , Some pleasant houres thy wo may wrap , and thee defend and cover . Thus in this trust , as yet it hath my life sustained , But now ( alas ) I see it faint , and I by trust ...
... delight ; Or who can tell thy loss if thou mayst once recover , Some pleasant houres thy wo may wrap , and thee defend and cover . Thus in this trust , as yet it hath my life sustained , But now ( alas ) I see it faint , and I by trust ...
Seite 4
... delight . Th ' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete , The floods , the seas , the land , the hills , that doth them intermete , Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere , My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as ...
... delight . Th ' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete , The floods , the seas , the land , the hills , that doth them intermete , Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere , My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as ...
Seite 5
... delight to move my wofull case , [ must complaine these hands , those armes , that firmly do embrace , Me from myself , and rule the sterne of my poor life , The sweet disdaynes , the pleasant wrathes , and eke the holy strife , That ...
... delight to move my wofull case , [ must complaine these hands , those armes , that firmly do embrace , Me from myself , and rule the sterne of my poor life , The sweet disdaynes , the pleasant wrathes , and eke the holy strife , That ...
Seite 7
... delight No longer make delay . Rather than ye should thus for me Be called an ill woman , Yet would I to the green wood go , Alone , a banished man . SHE - Though it be song of old and young , That I should be to blame , Theirs be the ...
... delight No longer make delay . Rather than ye should thus for me Be called an ill woman , Yet would I to the green wood go , Alone , a banished man . SHE - Though it be song of old and young , That I should be to blame , Theirs be the ...
Seite 11
... delight ! the wonder of our stage ! My Shakspeare rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer , or Spenser , or bid Beaumont lie A little further , to make thee a room : Thou art a monument without a tomb , And art alive still , while thy ...
... delight ! the wonder of our stage ! My Shakspeare rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer , or Spenser , or bid Beaumont lie A little further , to make thee a room : Thou art a monument without a tomb , And art alive still , while thy ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Seite 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Seite 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Seite 273 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Seite 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Seite 103 - 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. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Seite 274 - 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.
Seite 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Seite 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Seite 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.