Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 25–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ ix
... bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed • Rudely torn From their fresh beds , and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands , left on the path to die The scentless and the scented rose · When the harvest moon was beaming Softly ...
... bright Sun ! Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed • Rudely torn From their fresh beds , and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands , left on the path to die The scentless and the scented rose · When the harvest moon was beaming Softly ...
Էջ xiii
... bright and red Uprose the morning sun 165 I looked at her , and looked again : -And did not wish her mine 167 Behold the Cot ! where thrives th ' industrious swain , Source of his pride , his pleasure , and his gain 169 And gentle winds ...
... bright and red Uprose the morning sun 165 I looked at her , and looked again : -And did not wish her mine 167 Behold the Cot ! where thrives th ' industrious swain , Source of his pride , his pleasure , and his gain 169 And gentle winds ...
Էջ 2
... 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 thy emerging radiance ? Upward sped , Even to the centre of the vaulted sky , Thy ...
... 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 thy emerging radiance ? Upward sped , Even to the centre of the vaulted sky , Thy ...
Էջ 4
... bright - green brethren shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots : Round which is heard a spring head of clear waters , Prattling so wildly of its lovely daughters , The spreading bluebells : it may haply mourn That such fair ...
... bright - green brethren shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots : Round which is heard a spring head of clear waters , Prattling so wildly of its lovely daughters , The spreading bluebells : it may haply mourn That such fair ...
Էջ 24
... bright Wins on the shade , the shade upon the light . No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze On lovelier spectacle in fairy days ; When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase , Brushing with lucid wands the water's face . While music ...
... bright Wins on the shade , the shade upon the light . No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze On lovelier spectacle in fairy days ; When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase , Brushing with lucid wands the water's face . While music ...
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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...