The Poetical Works of John Keats: Chronologically Arranged and Edited, with a MemoirBell, 1914 - 498 pagini |
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Pagina x
... face and a somewhat saturnine demeanour . She must , however , have inspired her children with affection , for , on an occasion of illness , John , when between four and five years old , placed himself as a senti- nel at her door , with ...
... face and a somewhat saturnine demeanour . She must , however , have inspired her children with affection , for , on an occasion of illness , John , when between four and five years old , placed himself as a senti- nel at her door , with ...
Pagina xi
... face too pugnacious a character to be entirely pleasing . His indifference to being thought well of , as a good boy , was as ' Mr. E. Holmes , author of the Life of Mozart . remarkable as his facility in getting through his daily tasks ...
... face too pugnacious a character to be entirely pleasing . His indifference to being thought well of , as a good boy , was as ' Mr. E. Holmes , author of the Life of Mozart . remarkable as his facility in getting through his daily tasks ...
Pagina xviii
... the mouth was too wide , and out of harmony with the rest of his face , which had a peculiar sweetness of expression , with a character of mature thought and an almost painful sense of suffering . " He returned with Mr. xviii MEMOIR OF.
... the mouth was too wide , and out of harmony with the rest of his face , which had a peculiar sweetness of expression , with a character of mature thought and an almost painful sense of suffering . " He returned with Mr. xviii MEMOIR OF.
Pagina xxvii
... face , he added : " I know the colour - it is arterial blood . I must die . " When the surgeon arrived he was asleep , and on examination the rupture was declared to be unimportant ; but he was not to be persuaded out of his forebodings ...
... face , he added : " I know the colour - it is arterial blood . I must die . " When the surgeon arrived he was asleep , and on examination the rupture was declared to be unimportant ; but he was not to be persuaded out of his forebodings ...
Pagina 2
... I cannot your light , mazy footsteps Nor listen to attend ; accents , that almost adoring , Bless Cynthia's face , the enthusiast's friend Yet over the steep , whence the mountain - stream. 2 EARLY POEMS . To some Ladies.
... I cannot your light , mazy footsteps Nor listen to attend ; accents , that almost adoring , Bless Cynthia's face , the enthusiast's friend Yet over the steep , whence the mountain - stream. 2 EARLY POEMS . To some Ladies.
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Termeni și expresii frecvente
adieu Albert Apollo Art thou Auranthe beauty beneath bliss bower breast breath bright CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE clouds Conrad cool dark death delight divine dost doth dream ears earth Endymion Erminia Ethelbert eyes face faint fair fear feel flowers forest gentle Gersa Glocester golden green grief hand happy hast hear heart heaven hour JOHN KEATS Keats kiss lady Lamia leaves LEIGH HUNT light lips look look'd Ludolph lute lyre melody moon morning mortal Naiad never night nymphs o'er Otho pain pale pass'd pinions pleasant poesy poet rill ring-dove round Saturn seem'd shade sigh Sigifred silent silver sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars strange sweet tears TEIGNMOUTH tell tender thee thine things THOMAS CHATTERTON thou art thought trees trembling twas vex'd voice warm weep Whence whispering wild wind wings wonder young youth
Pasaje populare
Pagina 240 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? What men or gods are these?
Pagina 241 - Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Pagina 235 - Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...
Pagina 238 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Pagina 73 - ... Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charact'ry Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When 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 71 - My spirit is too weak— mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Pagina 234 - 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.
Pagina 312 - Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor. But no — already had his death-bell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung; His was harsh penance on St Agnes...
Pagina 325 - With a huge empty flagon by his side : The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns : By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide : — The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone : ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm.
Pagina 239 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild...