The Poetical Works of John Keats: Chronologically Arranged and Edited, with a MemoirBell, 1914 - 498 pagini |
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Pagina xx
... poor man , although by his purchase of a black - letter Chaucer and one or two other fine books he seems to have looked on the condition of his finances more hope- fully than events justified . The best proof that his dissipation was ...
... poor man , although by his purchase of a black - letter Chaucer and one or two other fine books he seems to have looked on the condition of his finances more hope- fully than events justified . The best proof that his dissipation was ...
Pagina xxii
... poor Keats : I never regretted anything more than to have been too late with my testimony to his merits . " It seems , indeed , doubtful whether the poet ever saw this fine and accurate criticism , which at once might have indicated to ...
... poor Keats : I never regretted anything more than to have been too late with my testimony to his merits . " It seems , indeed , doubtful whether the poet ever saw this fine and accurate criticism , which at once might have indicated to ...
Pagina 27
... Poor Nymph , -poor Pan , -how did he weep to find Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind Along the reedy stream ! a half - heard strain , Full of sweet desolation - balmy pain . What first inspired a bard of old to sing Narcissus ...
... Poor Nymph , -poor Pan , -how did he weep to find Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind Along the reedy stream ! a half - heard strain , Full of sweet desolation - balmy pain . What first inspired a bard of old to sing Narcissus ...
Pagina 32
... poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci . Why so sad a moan ? Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown ; ? The reading of an ever - changing tale ; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil ; A ...
... poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci . Why so sad a moan ? Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown ; ? The reading of an ever - changing tale ; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil ; A ...
Pagina 35
... poor , decrepit standard out , Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes , and in large The name of one Boileau ! } O ye whose charge It is to hover round our pleasant hills ! Whose congregated majesty so fills My boundly reverence , that I ...
... poor , decrepit standard out , Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes , and in large The name of one Boileau ! } O ye whose charge It is to hover round our pleasant hills ! Whose congregated majesty so fills My boundly reverence , that I ...
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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
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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...