Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 21–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
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... 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 yon humble broom bowers , Where X.
... 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 yon humble broom bowers , Where X.
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... seen Sitting alone , with that his faithful dog Her beauty seemed not of a mortal birth Sweet 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 ...
... seen Sitting alone , with that his faithful dog Her beauty seemed not of a mortal birth Sweet 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 ...
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... 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 beams pervade the heavens , and o'er them shed Hues indescribable ...
... 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 beams pervade the heavens , and o'er them shed Hues indescribable ...
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DOMESTIC LOVE . DOMESTIC LOVE ! not in proud palace halls Is often seen thy beauty to abide ; Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls , That in the thickets of the woodbine hide ; With hum of bees around , and from the side Of woody ...
DOMESTIC LOVE . DOMESTIC LOVE ! not in proud palace halls Is often seen thy beauty to abide ; Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls , That in the thickets of the woodbine hide ; With hum of bees around , and from the side Of woody ...
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... seen form of Twilight roams astray ; Shedding , through paly loopholes , mild and small , Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall ; Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale , Tracking the fitful motions of the gale . With ...
... seen form of Twilight roams astray ; Shedding , through paly loopholes , mild and small , Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall ; Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale , Tracking the fitful motions of the gale . With ...
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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...