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actual attempt Ballads beauty become begins Blake Byron called century Coleridge colour comes criticism death doubt dream edited emotion English existence expression eyes fact fancy feeling genius give heart human imagination interest Italy John Keats kind Lamb Landor language later least less letter light lines literature lived look lyric manner matter meaning metre mind Moore nature never notes once original pass passion perhaps plays poem poet Poetical poetry prose published realised reality remains remembered rendered rhyme says Scott seems seen sense sensitive Shelley single sometimes songs sonnets soul sound Southey speaking speech spirit stanza story strange style taste tells things thought touch translation truth turn verse vision vols whole wholly Wordsworth writing written wrote
Página 304 - Dilke on various subjects; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously— I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason...
Página 84 - It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.
Página 89 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress ; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Página 84 - I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity...
Página 84 - I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart.
Página 156 - Give glory to the Lord your God, before he cause darkness, and before your feet stumble upon the dark mountains, and, while ye look for light, he turn it into the shadow of death, and make it gross darkness.
Página 40 - Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea Wandering in many a coral grove Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry! How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!
Página 306 - A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence, because he has no Identity — he is continually in for and filling some other body.
Página 138 - My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
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