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" Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek... "
Spirit of the English Magazines - Pagina 480
1824
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: complete in one volume

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1847 - 607 pagine
...the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Ireathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Home might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet...grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; They might lament—for 1 am one Whom men love not,—and yet regret,. Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall...
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The Poetical Writings of the Late Willis Gaylord Clark

Willis Gaylord Clark - 1847 - 156 pagine
...a tried child, And weep away this life of care, Which I have borne and still must bear, Till denth, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel, in...the warm air, My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Brenthe o'er my dying brain its last monotony." Shelley. 'T is a spring hour : the silvery green Of...
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The Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volume 1

Thomas Medwin - 1847 - 372 pagine
...like a tired child, And weep away this life of care, Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till Death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air, My heart grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my outworn brain its last monotony." The line stands...
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Sartain's Union Magazine of Literature and Art, Volumi 2-3

1848
...sadness, hat of that sort of sadness, he nays: •• Some might lament that I were cold, Afl I when thifl sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insnlts with its nntimely moan ; They might lament, for 1 am one Whom men love not, and yet regret,...
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The poetical works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volumi 1-4

Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1849
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...and hear the sea [Breathe o'er my dying brain its lost monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost...
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The Knickerbocker: Or, New York Monthly Magazine, Volume 34

1849 - 652 pagine
...care, Which I nave borne and still must bear, Till death like Bleep should steal on mo ; And I could feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the Eea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony,' our respected contemporary bowed down his face...
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Memoirs of Eminent Etonians: With Notices of the Early History of Eton College

Edward Shepherd Creasy - 1850 - 504 pagine
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lamant — for I am one Whom men lore not, — and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun...
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The Metropolitan Magazine, Volume 14

1835 - 606 pagine
...Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might fefl in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony ! And the second is beaded " Mutability," a beautiful little piece. Shelley has been called an atheist:...
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Memoirs of Eminent Etonians: With Notices of the Early History of Eton College

Edward Shepherd Creasy - 1850 - 504 pagine
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hoar the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As...
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The Poetry and Poets of Britain: From Chaucer to Tennyson ; with ...

Daniel Scrymgeour - 1850 - 596 pagine
...like a tired ehild, And weep away the life of eare Whieh I have borne, and yet mnst bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My eheek grow eold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament...
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