A Poet's Anthology of PoemsAlfred Noyes Baker & Taylor Company, 1911 - 407 pagine |
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Parole e frasi comuni
Adonais ALICE MEYNELL angel Asolo beauty beneath bird bliss breast breath bright brow CHRISTINA ROSSETTI cloud dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth EMILY BRONTË eternal Excalibur eyes face fair fear flower FRANCIS THOMPSON Girl glory Guido Reni hair hand happy harmony hate hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour Jules King King Arthur kiss leaves light live look love's Luigi MATTHEW ARNOLD mind Monsignor moon morning mortal Mother never night o'er once Ottima pass PIPPA PIPPA passes Possagno praise ROBERT BROWNING rose round Sebald shine sigh silent sing Sir Bedivere sleep smile song song of praise sorrow soul sound speak spirit stars sweet tears TENNYSON thee there's thine things thou art thou hast thro voice wake weep white-thorn wild wind wings wonder words WORDSWORTH young
Brani popolari
Pagina 94 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Pagina 76 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Pagina 148 - Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
Pagina 24 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Pagina 23 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine- own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Pagina 154 - 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-fring'd 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? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Pagina 209 - Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk ; And let the misty mountain winds be free To blow against thee...
Pagina 53 - When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night With this her solemn bird and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train...
Pagina 317 - Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell.
Pagina 393 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.