Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 51–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ x
... o'er us glowing , Around us was the morning breath of May Yon castled steep , Whose banner hangeth o'er the time - worn tower And on a summit , distant a short space , A single mountain cottage might be seen 63 65 67 69 Far dearer to me ...
... o'er us glowing , Around us was the morning breath of May Yon castled steep , Whose banner hangeth o'er the time - worn tower And on a summit , distant a short space , A single mountain cottage might be seen 63 65 67 69 Far dearer to me ...
Էջ xi
... o'er the level ground But sidelang we look'd on Ilk ither in turn Cold fear no more the songster's voice is sealing ; Down in the thick dark grove is heard his song And flocks which cluster to their bell , Recline along thy brink When ...
... o'er the level ground But sidelang we look'd on Ilk ither in turn Cold fear no more the songster's voice is sealing ; Down in the thick dark grove is heard his song And flocks which cluster to their bell , Recline along thy brink When ...
Էջ xii
... o'er a thousand raging waves to burn Come forth , my lord , and see the cart Drest up with all the country art He , as through an instrument , III 113 Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls 115 The gleaners spread around , and here and ...
... o'er a thousand raging waves to burn Come forth , my lord , and see the cart Drest up with all the country art He , as through an instrument , III 113 Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls 115 The gleaners spread around , and here and ...
Էջ xiii
... o'er the jovial mead 151 He was seated by the highway side , On a low structure of rude masonry 153 Him even the slow - paced waggon leaves behind 154 And with the little birds Share his chance - gathered meal 155 A house of stones ...
... o'er the jovial mead 151 He was seated by the highway side , On a low structure of rude masonry 153 Him even the slow - paced waggon leaves behind 154 And with the little birds Share his chance - gathered meal 155 A house of stones ...
Էջ xvi
... o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul " 269 • 270 • 271 272 273 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 283 284 285 286 287 289 And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed 290 Now beamed the ...
... o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul " 269 • 270 • 271 272 273 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 283 284 285 286 287 289 And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed 290 Now beamed the ...
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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...