A Selection from the Poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning: First SeriesSmith, Elder, 1884 - 267 páginas |
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Página 1
... you meet it with a jeer ! If I said it long enough , Then the rain hummed dimly off And the thrush with his pure Lydian Was left only to the ear ; And the sun and I together Went a - rushing I. B HECTOR IN THE GARDEN.
... you meet it with a jeer ! If I said it long enough , Then the rain hummed dimly off And the thrush with his pure Lydian Was left only to the ear ; And the sun and I together Went a - rushing I. B HECTOR IN THE GARDEN.
Página 10
... pure with solitude . And if Chaucer had not travelled Through a forest by a well , He had never dreamt nor marvelled At those ladies fair and fell Who lived smiling without loving in their island - citadel . Thus I thought of the old ...
... pure with solitude . And if Chaucer had not travelled Through a forest by a well , He had never dreamt nor marvelled At those ladies fair and fell Who lived smiling without loving in their island - citadel . Thus I thought of the old ...
Página 17
... pure grace ! ) The next morning all had vanished , or my wandering missed the place . Bring an oath most sylvan - holy , And upon it swear me true- By the wind - bells swinging slowly Their mute curfews in the dew , By the advent of the ...
... pure grace ! ) The next morning all had vanished , or my wandering missed the place . Bring an oath most sylvan - holy , And upon it swear me true- By the wind - bells swinging slowly Their mute curfews in the dew , By the advent of the ...
Página 22
... pure— I cannot choose but have A thought from these , o ' the beechen - trees Which in our England wave , And of the little finches fine Which sang there while in Palestine The warrior hilt we drave . " Methinks , a moment gone , I ...
... pure— I cannot choose but have A thought from these , o ' the beechen - trees Which in our England wave , And of the little finches fine Which sang there while in Palestine The warrior hilt we drave . " Methinks , a moment gone , I ...
Página 28
... pure did make ! ” " Well done it were for thy sistèr , Thou tellest well her tale ! But for my lady , she shall pray I ' the kirk of Nydesdale . Not dread for me but love for me Shall make my lady pale ; No casque shall hide her woman's ...
... pure did make ! ” " Well done it were for thy sistèr , Thou tellest well her tale ! But for my lady , she shall pray I ' the kirk of Nydesdale . Not dread for me but love for me Shall make my lady pale ; No casque shall hide her woman's ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Adonis ÆSCHYLUS angels Ariadne Art thou Bacchus beauty beloved beneath beside bird bless breath brow calm CASTRUCCIO CASTRACANI cheek child Cimabue cloud cold crown Cytherea dark days go dear death deep divine doth dream drop dropt earth Emperor Evermore eyelids eyes face fair Florence flowers gazing glory God's grave hand harken head hear heart heaven hills holy Italy kiss knee lady laugh light lips live look love thee love's Margret METAMORPH mother mouth neath nightingales nosegay o'er pale Pan is dead PANDARUS poet praise pray prayer PSYCHE rose rose-tree round scorn shadow shining shout sigh sight silence sing sleep smile song soul sound spake spirit stand stars stood sweet sweetest sword tears Theseus thine things thou art thought Toll slowly trees tremble Tuscan twixt voice ween weep wind word Zeus
Pasajes populares
Página 125 - What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's heart, to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? " He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Página 144 - we are weary, And we cannot run or leap; If we cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping, We fall upon our faces, trying to go; And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring, Through the coal-dark, underground; Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 10 In the factories, round and round.
Página 6 - But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face. He will say: 'O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace.
Página 143 - is very dreary ;" " Our young feet," they say, "are very weak ! Few paces have we taken, yet are weary — Our grave-rest is very far to seek. Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, For the outside earth is cold, And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old. "True," say the children, " it may happen That we die before our time.
Página 215 - She never found fault with you, never implied Your wrong by her right ; and yet men at her side Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town The children were gladder that pulled at her gown — My Kate.
Página 264 - WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat • With the dragon-fly on the river? He tore out a reed, the great god Pan...
Página 133 - I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless ; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death : Most like a monumental statue set In everlasting watch and moveless woe, Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Página 128 - He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation, And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration; Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken, Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.
Página 265 - He tore out a reed, the great God Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river : The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river.
Página 117 - Like a lady's ringlets brown, Flow thy silken ears adown Either side demurely, Of thy silver-suited breast Shining out from all the rest Of thy body purely.