"Under Green Leaves.": A Book of Rural PoemsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce & Huntington, 1865 - 96 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 30–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
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... SPRING SONG LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING SONG OF SPRING SONG TO DAFFODILS TO BLOSSOMS TO PRIMROSES William Shakspeare . W. L. Bowles . PAGE 5 6 Mary Howitt . 6 Adelaide Anne Proctor . 9 Lord Thurlow . 10 Anonymous . 10 Barry Cornwall ...
... SPRING SONG LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING SONG OF SPRING SONG TO DAFFODILS TO BLOSSOMS TO PRIMROSES William Shakspeare . W. L. Bowles . PAGE 5 6 Mary Howitt . 6 Adelaide Anne Proctor . 9 Lord Thurlow . 10 Anonymous . 10 Barry Cornwall ...
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... Spring , We roamed through the greenwood together . W. L. Bowles . SUMMER WOODS . COME ye into the summer woods ; There entereth no annoy ; All greenly wave the chestnut leaves , And the earth is full of joy . SUMMER WOODS . I cannot ...
... Spring , We roamed through the greenwood together . W. L. Bowles . SUMMER WOODS . COME ye into the summer woods ; There entereth no annoy ; All greenly wave the chestnut leaves , And the earth is full of joy . SUMMER WOODS . I cannot ...
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... are bright and long , And the little birds pipe a merry song , ' Tis sweet in the shady woods to lie , And gaze at the leaves , and the twinkling sky , SONG IN PRAISE OF SPRING . Drinking the while the 10 66 UNDER GREEN LEAVES . "
... are bright and long , And the little birds pipe a merry song , ' Tis sweet in the shady woods to lie , And gaze at the leaves , and the twinkling sky , SONG IN PRAISE OF SPRING . Drinking the while the 10 66 UNDER GREEN LEAVES . "
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... SPRING . WHEN the wind blows In the sweet rose - tree , And the cow lows On the fragrant lea , And the stream flows All light and free , ' Tis not for me , ' tis not for thee ... Spring ! the bountiful Spring ! She shineth Anonymous.
... SPRING . WHEN the wind blows In the sweet rose - tree , And the cow lows On the fragrant lea , And the stream flows All light and free , ' Tis not for me , ' tis not for thee ... Spring ! the bountiful Spring ! She shineth Anonymous.
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A Book of Rural Poems Richard Henry Stoddard. O the Spring ! the bountiful Spring ! She shineth and smileth on every thing . Where come the sheep ? To the rich man's moor . Where cometh sleep ? To the bed that's poor . Peasants must weep ...
A Book of Rural Poems Richard Henry Stoddard. O the Spring ! the bountiful Spring ! She shineth and smileth on every thing . Where come the sheep ? To the rich man's moor . Where cometh sleep ? To the bed that's poor . Peasants must weep ...
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Common terms and phrases
Alfred Tennyson amid ANDREW MARVELL beauty beneath birds bless blossoms blue boughs bowers breath breeze bright brook BUNCE & HUNTINGTON busy Bee clouds Cuckoo daisies deep delight dewy dost doth earth ECHOING GREEN eyes fair flowers George Darley glad golden grass greenwood GRONGAR HILL grove happy Hark hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh trolollie hither John Clare John Keats landscape lark leaves light linnet Little lamb lollie Lord Thurlow love good-morrow meadow meads merry murmuring Muse nest night NIGHT SONG nightingale nook o'er pipe Pluck primrose RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Robert Herrick round shade shepherd silver sing skies sleep soft SONG sound Spring star stream SUMMER MORNING sunny sweet thee thou art thou busy tree vale violets voice Wake wander weary wend wild Cherry-tree William Blake William Wordsworth wind wings woods
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Էջ 13 - Lines Written in Early Spring I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Էջ 27 - To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
Էջ 20 - Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Էջ 90 - O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Էջ 96 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath...
Էջ 14 - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: — But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
Էջ 60 - Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade.
Էջ 96 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, She stood in. tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Էջ 18 - To BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last.
Էջ 26 - Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...