The Golden Book of English SonnetsWilliam Robertson G. G. Harrap limited, 1913 - 269 pagini |
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Pagina xviii
... rose and rose ROSSETTI , WILLIAM MICHAEL , 1829-1919 How long , O Lord ? —The voice is sounding still : RUSSELL , THOMAS , 1762-1788 On this lone isle , whose rugged rocks affright SCOTT , WILLIAM BELL , 1811-1890 Revolving worlds ...
... rose and rose ROSSETTI , WILLIAM MICHAEL , 1829-1919 How long , O Lord ? —The voice is sounding still : RUSSELL , THOMAS , 1762-1788 On this lone isle , whose rugged rocks affright SCOTT , WILLIAM BELL , 1811-1890 Revolving worlds ...
Pagina xix
... rose to the wind has yielded : all its leaves But half a man's days - and his days were nights . So many a dream and hope that went and came , Beyond the north wind lay the land of old A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve ...
... rose to the wind has yielded : all its leaves But half a man's days - and his days were nights . So many a dream and hope that went and came , Beyond the north wind lay the land of old A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve ...
Pagina 17
... rose ; They were but sweet , but figures of delight , Drawn after you , -you pattern of all those . Yet seemed it winter still , and , you away , As with your shadow I with these did play . GOLDEN ENGLISH SONNETS WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ...
... rose ; They were but sweet , but figures of delight , Drawn after you , -you pattern of all those . Yet seemed it winter still , and , you away , As with your shadow I with these did play . GOLDEN ENGLISH SONNETS WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ...
Pagina 24
... rose , Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower ; Sovran of beauty , like the spray she grows ; Compassed she is with thorns and cankered bower . Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn , She would be gathered , though she grew on ...
... rose , Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower ; Sovran of beauty , like the spray she grows ; Compassed she is with thorns and cankered bower . Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn , She would be gathered , though she grew on ...
Pagina 49
... rose , that neither sowed nor spun . What neat repast shall feast us , light and choice , Of Attic taste , with wine , whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched , or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? He who of ...
... rose , that neither sowed nor spun . What neat repast shall feast us , light and choice , Of Attic taste , with wine , whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched , or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? He who of ...
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Termeni și expresii frecvente
beauty beneath breath bright clouds DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI dark dead dear Death delight didst dost doth dream DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN earth EDMOND HOLMES EDWARD CRACROFT LEFROY ENGLISH SONNETS JOHN ENGLISH SONNETS WILLIAM eternal eyes face fade fair feet flowers forget glory gold GOLDEN ENGLISH SONNETS GOLDEN JOHN GOLDEN WILLIAM hand hast hath heart heaven HENRY CHARLES BEECHING hills JOHN KEATS kiss land leaves life's light lips live lone Lord love's moon morning muse never night o'er peace PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON praise ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON rose round SAMUEL WADDINGTON shadows shepherds shine shore sigh sight silent sing skies sleep soft song soul Spring stars summer sweet tears thee THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON thine things thou art thought to-day voice WATSON waves weary WILFRID SCAWEN WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Willowwood wind wings woods
Pasaje populare
Pagina 50 - CYRIAC, this three years' day, these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman.
Pagina 58 - THE world is too much with us: late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 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. — Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that...
Pagina 19 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Pagina 20 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Pagina 35 - Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
Pagina 11 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Pagina 2 - The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes fleet with new repaired scale.
Pagina 78 - THE poetry of earth is never dead : When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead In summer luxury, — he has never done With his delights ; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
Pagina 16 - How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time remov'd was summer's time, The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords...
Pagina 48 - When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5 My true account, lest he returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?