Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 23–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ ix
... bird . Now , with religious awe , the farewell light Blends with the solemn colouring of night The lightnings flash a larger curve , and more The noise astounds Down the path Which from his cottage to the Church - yard led , He took his ...
... bird . Now , with religious awe , the farewell light Blends with the solemn colouring of night The lightnings flash a larger curve , and more The noise astounds Down the path Which from his cottage to the Church - yard led , He took his ...
Էջ x
... birds sang out their mellow lay I could not pray : -through tears that fell in showers I saw my own dear home , that was no longer ours Those fraternal Four of Borrowdale , Joined in one solemn and capacious grove His wizard course ...
... birds sang out their mellow lay I could not pray : -through tears that fell in showers I saw my own dear home , that was no longer ours Those fraternal Four of Borrowdale , Joined in one solemn and capacious grove His wizard course ...
Էջ xi
... bird , that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past , or coming , void of care And Lucy , at her wheel , shall sing , In russet gown and apron blue How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain , tower , and town Now who is he that ...
... bird , that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past , or coming , void of care And Lucy , at her wheel , shall sing , In russet gown and apron blue How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain , tower , and town Now who is he that ...
Էջ xiii
... birds Share his chance - gathered meal 155 A house of stones collected on the spot , By rude hands built , with rocky knolls in front 157 Walk thou with me , and stoop to see The glories of the lane ! Among the woods , 159 And o'er the ...
... birds Share his chance - gathered meal 155 A house of stones collected on the spot , By rude hands built , with rocky knolls in front 157 Walk thou with me , and stoop to see The glories of the lane ! Among the woods , 159 And o'er the ...
Էջ 2
... birds their matin sing from many a leafy bower . And more magnificent art thou , bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed : Who that has seen thee thus , as I have done , Can e'er forget the effulgent splendours spread From ...
... birds their matin sing from many a leafy bower . And more magnificent art thou , bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed : Who that has seen thee thus , as I have done , Can e'er forget the effulgent splendours spread From ...
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Common terms and phrases
Astòr beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom blue bosom boughs bower breathe bright brook BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Coloured cottage DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gilt edges gleam glide gloom Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy harebells hath heard heart heaven Helpmate HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour hung lassie light live lofty lonely look Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing skies sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring steep stone stood stream summer tears thine thou art thoughts trees vale village voice wandering waters waves wild winds winter woods WORDSWORTH Yarrow youth
Սիրված հատվածներ
Էջ 14 - 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.
Էջ 50 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Էջ 236 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Էջ 200 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Էջ 56 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Էջ 56 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Էջ 30 - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Էջ 232 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard, Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Էջ 222 - 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.
Էջ 122 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...