A Chant of Love for England and Other PoemsJ.M. Dent & Sons, Limited, 1915 - 103 pagine |
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A Chant of Love for England and Other Poems (Classic Reprint) Helen Gray Cone Anteprima non disponibile - 2015 |
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ABRAHAM LINCOLN ACCOLADE azure skies battle bells bird blue bobolink breast bright brow buff-coat Bee dark dead dream ELLEN TERRY'S BEATRICE England eyes face fair FIAMMETTA field and wave fight fire flame flash flicker flower gleam glory grave gray GREENCASTLE grief grim hand Hark head heart heaven herd-boy hills House of Hate IVO OF CHARTRES JOAN OF ARC keen King Hamlet died laughing LEPAGE'S JOAN lifts light lips little flame live moon never Night hopeless NOCTURNE OF RUBINSTEIN o'er old green garden pale pass peace perfect hour Pericles Poverty Row pranksome prescience Prince Hamlet remains but night ride ring ROBIN PUCK rose shadow shine sight sing sleep smile soft song soul splendour SPRING BEAUTIES stars stone strange in Elsinore stream sweet swift tale be spread talking stone tell tender thing thou voice whispering wood wild wind wings wood YELLOW PANSY young
Brani popolari
Pagina 2 - ... beauteous breast ye may; The spirit of England none can slay! Dash the bomb on the dome of Paul's — Deem ye the fame of the Admiral falls? Pry the stone from the chancel floor, — Dream ye that Shakespeare shall live no more? Where is the giant shot that kills Wordsworth walking the old green hills? Trample the red rose on the ground, — Keats is Beauty while earth spins round! Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire, Cast her ashes into the sea, — • She shall escape, she shall aspire,...
Pagina 1 - A Chant of Love for England A song of hate is a song of Hell ; Some there be that sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We lift our hearts to heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, — England! Glory of thought and glory of deed, Glory of Hampden and Runnymede; Glory of ships that sought far goals, Glory of swords and glory of souls ! Glory of songs, mounting as birds, Glory immortal of magical words; Glory of Milton, glory of Nelson, Tragical...
Pagina 32 - But ye who have seemed to know us, have seen and heard; Who have set us at feasts and have crowned with the costly rose; Who have spread us the purple of praises beneath our feet; Yet guessed not the word that we spake was a living word, Applauding the sound, — we account you as worse than foes! We sobbed you our message; ye said,
Pagina 51 - His wings on the sombre lichens Played like a yellow flame. He looked at the gray geraniums, And the sleepy four-o'-clocks ; He looked at the low lanes bordered With the glossy-growing box.
Pagina 1 - Shatter her beauteous breast ye may; The Spirit of England none can slay! Dash the bomb on the dome of Paul's Deem ye the fame of the Admiral falls? Pry the stone from the chancel floor, — Dream ye that Shakespeare shall live no more? Where is the giant shot that kills Wordsworth walking the old green hills?
Pagina 64 - ELLEN TERRY'S BEATRICE. A WIND of spring that whirls the feigned snows Of blossom petals in the face and flees ; Elusive, made of mirthful mockeries, Yet tender with the prescience of the rose ; A strain desired, that through the memory goes, Too subtle-slender for the voice to seize ; A flame dissembled, only lit to tease, Whose touch were half a kiss, if one but knows. She shows by Leonato's dove-like daughter A falcon by a prince to be possessed...
Pagina 25 - Far behind had the fight's din died; The shuddering stars in the welkin wide Crowded, crowded, to see him ride. The beating hearts of the stars aloof Kept time to the beat of the horse's hoof. 'What is the throb that thrills so sweet? Heart of my lady, I feel it beat!
Pagina 1 - A CHANT OF LOVE FOR ENGLAND A song of hate is a song of Hell; Some there be that sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We lift our hearts to Heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, —
Pagina 24 - Now since mine even is come at last, — For I have been the sport of steel, And hot life ebbeth from me fast, And I in saddle roll and reel, — Come bind me, bind me on my steed! Of fingering leech I have no need!" The chaplain clasped his mailed knee. "Nor need I more thy whine and thee! No time is left my sins to tell; But look ye bind me, bind me well!" They bound him strong with leathern thong, For the ride to the lady should be long. Day was dying; the poplars fled, Thin as ghosts, on a sky...
Pagina 67 - And a swarm of courtiers flit, New in slashed and satined trim, With their freshly-fashioned wit And their littleness of limb, — Flit about the stairways wide, Till the pale Prince Hamlet smiles, As he walks, at twilight tide, Through the galleries and the aisles. For to him the castle seems — This old castle, Elsinore— Like a thing built up of dreams; And the king's a mask, no more; And the courtiers seem but flights Of the painted butterflies ; And the arras, wrought with fights, Grows alive...