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appear beauty birds breath bright child cloud cold Compare dark dead dear death deep delight dream earth English eyes face fair fall fear feel flowers give glory gone grave green hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour human Keats lady leaves less light lines live look Lord lost meet mind moon morning mountain Nature never night o'er once pain pass passage pleasure poem poet river round scene seen sense Shelley Shelley's sight silent sing sleep soft song sorrow soul sound spirit Spring star stream sweet tears thee thine things thou thou art thought trees verse voice wandering waters waves weep wild winds wings woods Wordsworth Written Yarrow youth
Seite 74 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Seite 55 - And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave...
Seite 235 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Seite 38 - And there she lulled me asleep And there I dream'd— Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried— "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
Seite 120 - ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Seite 127 - 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 name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Seite 134 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Seite 68 - Milton ! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Seite 13 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright : I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? — To thy chamber-window, sweet ! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart...