Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 20–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ xii
... sleeps beneath the greenwood tree , And other home hath none Maids at the wheel , the weaver at his loom , Sit blithe and happy A love that shall be new and fresh each hour As is the golden mystery of sunset Green pastures she views in ...
... sleeps beneath the greenwood tree , And other home hath none Maids at the wheel , the weaver at his loom , Sit blithe and happy A love that shall be new and fresh each hour As is the golden mystery of sunset Green pastures she views in ...
Էջ xv
... Sleeps Ossian , in the Narrow Glen See the Kitten on the wall , Sporting with the leaves that fall Bring all the four into the woods- We'll set them gathering posies A low cottage in a sunny bay , PAGE 229 231 233 235 237 239 241 243 ...
... Sleeps Ossian , in the Narrow Glen See the Kitten on the wall , Sporting with the leaves that fall Bring all the four into the woods- We'll set them gathering posies A low cottage in a sunny bay , PAGE 229 231 233 235 237 239 241 243 ...
Էջ xvi
... sleeps on all the hills A stag sprang from the pasture at his call • 296 297 298 What majesty attends Night's lovely queen ! Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood 299 300 He sleeps in dust 301 A HOLY - DAY -- the frugal ...
... sleeps on all the hills A stag sprang from the pasture at his call • 296 297 298 What majesty attends Night's lovely queen ! Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood 299 300 He sleeps in dust 301 A HOLY - DAY -- the frugal ...
Էջ 4
... sleep , But that ' t is ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers . KEATS . E. EVANS LABURNUM , rich In streaming gold ; syringa Rudely torn From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands, left on the path ...
... sleep , But that ' t is ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers . KEATS . E. EVANS LABURNUM , rich In streaming gold ; syringa Rudely torn From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly By infant hands, left on the path ...
Էջ 12
... their temples long have wore The silver crown of tresses hoar , As studious still calm peace to keep , Beneath a flowery turf they sleep . WARTON . 12 For them the moon with cloudless Mounts, to illume their homeward way.
... their temples long have wore The silver crown of tresses hoar , As studious still calm peace to keep , Beneath a flowery turf they sleep . WARTON . 12 For them the moon with cloudless Mounts, to illume their homeward way.
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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...