Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - 301 páginas |
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Página xiii
PAGE And children are pulling . Fresh flowers 147 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea 149 Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead 151 He was seated by the highway side , On a low structure of rude masonry 153 Him even the slow ...
PAGE And children are pulling . Fresh flowers 147 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea 149 Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead 151 He was seated by the highway side , On a low structure of rude masonry 153 Him even the slow ...
Página xvi
... heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul " 269 • 270 • 271 272 273 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 283 284 285 286 287 289 And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed 290 Now beamed the evening ...
... heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul " 269 • 270 • 271 272 273 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 283 284 285 286 287 289 And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed 290 Now beamed the evening ...
Página 2
... heavens , and o'er them shed Hues indescribable - of gorgeous dye , Making among the clouds mute glorious pageantry . Then , then how beautiful across the deep The lustre of thy orient path of light ! Onward , still onward , o'er the ...
... heavens , and o'er them shed Hues indescribable - of gorgeous dye , Making among the clouds mute glorious pageantry . Then , then how beautiful across the deep The lustre of thy orient path of light ! Onward , still onward , o'er the ...
Página 20
... heaven and earth doth fling . O love of loves ! -to thy white hand is given Of earthly happiness the golden key ! Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even , When the babes cling around their father's knee ; And thine the voice , that ...
... heaven and earth doth fling . O love of loves ! -to thy white hand is given Of earthly happiness the golden key ! Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even , When the babes cling around their father's knee ; And thine the voice , that ...
Página 26
... heaven , The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes And rolls its awful burden on the wind , The lightnings flash a larger curve , and more The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts , And ...
... heaven , The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes And rolls its awful burden on the wind , The lightnings flash a larger curve , and more The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts , And ...
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Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Beauties of English Landscape (Classic Reprint) Myles Birket Foster Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
Astòr beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom blue bosom boughs bower breathe bright brook BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Coloured cottage DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gilt edges gleam glide gloom Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy harebells hath heard heart heaven Helpmate HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour hung lassie light live lofty lonely look Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing skies sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring steep stone stood stream summer tears thine thou art thoughts trees vale village voice wandering waters waves wild winds winter woods WORDSWORTH Yarrow youth
Pasajes populares
Página 14 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Página 50 - 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.
Página 236 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Página 200 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Página 56 - 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...
Página 56 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Página 30 - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Página 232 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard, Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Página 222 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Página 122 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...