The Life and Letters of John KeatsE. Moxon, 1867 - 363 Seiten |
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Seite 13
... looks through the film of death ; " he thinks of leaving behind him lays of such a dear delight , That maids will ... look back on it in after years with a smiling pity to think they were so deceived , but who never- theless recognise ...
... looks through the film of death ; " he thinks of leaving behind him lays of such a dear delight , That maids will ... look back on it in after years with a smiling pity to think they were so deceived , but who never- theless recognise ...
Seite 16
... look back upon with indignation and sur- prise , Mr. Hunt had been imprisoned for the publication of phrases which , at the most , were indecorous expressions of public feeling , and became a traitor or a martyr according to the temper ...
... look back upon with indignation and sur- prise , Mr. Hunt had been imprisoned for the publication of phrases which , at the most , were indecorous expressions of public feeling , and became a traitor or a martyr according to the temper ...
Seite 36
... look with an obstinate eye on the very devil himself ; or , to be as proud to be the lowest of the human race , as Alfred would be in being of the highest . I am very sure that you do love me as your very brother . I have seen it in ...
... look with an obstinate eye on the very devil himself ; or , to be as proud to be the lowest of the human race , as Alfred would be in being of the highest . I am very sure that you do love me as your very brother . I have seen it in ...
Seite 40
... look of the most ludicrous astonishment by saying abruptly , " Hist ! For God's sake , let us sit upon the ground And tell strange stories of the deaths of kings . " The old lady looked on the coach floor , expecting them to take their ...
... look of the most ludicrous astonishment by saying abruptly , " Hist ! For God's sake , let us sit upon the ground And tell strange stories of the deaths of kings . " The old lady looked on the coach floor , expecting them to take their ...
Seite 54
... look not for it if it be not in the present hour . Nothing startles me beyond the moment . The setting sun will always set me to rights , or if a sparrow come before my window , I take part in its existence , and pick about the gravel ...
... look not for it if it be not in the present hour . Nothing startles me beyond the moment . The setting sun will always set me to rights , or if a sparrow come before my window , I take part in its existence , and pick about the gravel ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
affectionate friend appears AUCHTERCAIRN beautiful breath brother Brown Charles Cowden Clarke clouds comfort cottage DEAR BAILEY DEAR REYNOLDS death delight Devonshire Dilke dream Elgin Marbles endeavour Endymion eyes fair fame fancy feel flowers genius George George Keats give Hampstead hand happiness Haydon head hear heart heaven honour hope human Hunt Hyperion imagination Isle Isle of Wight JOHN KEATS Kean Keats's Kirkcudbright Lamia leave Leigh Hunt letter literary live look Lord Byron melancholy Milton mind morning mortal Muse nature never night numbers pain Paradise Lost passed passion perhaps pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Port Patrick Saturn seems Severn Shakespeare Shelley sincere friend sister sleep Sonnet soon sort soul speak spirit Staffa sure sweet TEIGNMOUTH tell thee thing thou thought tion verse walk wish word Wordsworth write written wrote
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 204 - She found me roots of relish sweet. And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said — 'I love thee true!
Seite 233 - Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian Bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned Both harp and voice ; nor could the Muse defend Her son.
Seite 204 - La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
Seite 80 - 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 1
Seite 347 - One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain : The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake...
Seite 118 - Man — of convincing one's nerves that the world is full of Misery and Heartbreak, Pain, Sickness and oppression — whereby this Chamber of Maiden Thought becomes gradually darken'd and at the same time on all sides of it many doors are set open — but all dark — all leading to dark passages — We see not the balance of good and evil. We are in a Mist. We are now in that state — We feel the
Seite 345 - Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair ; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the...
Seite 30 - ON THE SEA It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of Heaven were unbound.
Seite 36 - I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
Seite 181 - A Poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no Identity; he is continually in for and filling some other Body. The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute. The poet has none; no identity. He is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's Creatures.