The Poetical Works of John KeatsEdward Moxon & Company, Dover street., 1863 - 301 pagini |
Din interiorul cărții
Rezultatele 1 - 5 din 65
Pagina 5
... tell On a Dream . 357 " If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd " 358 " The day is gone , and all its sweets are gone " . 359 " I cry your mercy Keats's Last Sonnet . pity - love - ay , ay , love " 360 ... 361 THE LIFE OF KEATS ...
... tell On a Dream . 357 " If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd " 358 " The day is gone , and all its sweets are gone " . 359 " I cry your mercy Keats's Last Sonnet . pity - love - ay , ay , love " 360 ... 361 THE LIFE OF KEATS ...
Pagina 10
... tell us * Haydon tells the story differently , but we think Mr. Milnes's version the best . what the boy was , we will tell you what 10 THE LIFE OF KEATS .
... tell us * Haydon tells the story differently , but we think Mr. Milnes's version the best . what the boy was , we will tell you what 10 THE LIFE OF KEATS .
Pagina 11
John Keats. what the boy was , we will tell you what the man longs to be , however he may be repressed by ne- cessity or fear of the police reports . Mr. Milnes has failed to discover anything else especially worthy of record in the ...
John Keats. what the boy was , we will tell you what the man longs to be , however he may be repressed by ne- cessity or fear of the police reports . Mr. Milnes has failed to discover anything else especially worthy of record in the ...
Pagina 19
... tell you that I am not . She kept me awake one night , as a tune of Mozart's might do . I speak of the thing as a pastime and an amusement , than which I can feel none deeper than a conversation & • with an imperial woman , the very yes ...
... tell you that I am not . She kept me awake one night , as a tune of Mozart's might do . I speak of the thing as a pastime and an amusement , than which I can feel none deeper than a conversation & • with an imperial woman , the very yes ...
Pagina 37
... tell The freshness of the space of heaven above , Edged round with dark tree - tops ? through which a dove Would often beat its wings , and often too A little cloud would move across the blue . Full in the middle of this pleasantness ...
... tell The freshness of the space of heaven above , Edged round with dark tree - tops ? through which a dove Would often beat its wings , and often too A little cloud would move across the blue . Full in the middle of this pleasantness ...
Alte ediții - Afișează-le pe toate
Termeni și expresii frecvente
Adieu Apollo art thou beauty beneath Beneath the silence bliss blue bower breast breath bright buds censer CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE clouds Corinth dark dear delight divine dost doth dream Dryad e'er earth ELGIN MARBLES Elysium Endymion eyes face fair fancy feel flowers forest gentle golden Gondibert gone green hair hand happy head heart heaven Keats kiss Lamia leaves light lips look lute Lycius lyre melodies Mermaid Tavern morning mortal Muse Naiad never night nymphs o'er pain pale pinions pleasant pleasure poesy poet rills ring-doves rose round Saturn seem'd shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars stept stood strange streams sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice warm weep whence whispering wild wind wings wonders young youth
Pasaje populare
Pagina 265 - 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, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Pagina 189 - St Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold : Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith...
Pagina 266 - She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to Poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine...
Pagina 35 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Pagina 256 - Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music : — do I wake or sleep ? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.
Pagina 199 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Pagina 16 - And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority...
Pagina 348 - I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
Pagina 167 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy ? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven : We know her woof, her texture ; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Pagina 264 - To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.