"Under Green Leaves.": A Book of Rural PoemsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce & Huntington, 1865 - 96 páginas |
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Página 35
... gray ; Now by green hedge - rows , now by oak - trees old , As they by stile or thatchèd cottage stray . Peep through the rounded hand , and you'll behold Such gems as Morland drew , in frames of sunny gold . XIV . A laden ass , a maid ...
... gray ; Now by green hedge - rows , now by oak - trees old , As they by stile or thatchèd cottage stray . Peep through the rounded hand , and you'll behold Such gems as Morland drew , in frames of sunny gold . XIV . A laden ass , a maid ...
Página 36
... gray old tilted cart appear , Moving so slow , you think he never will get there . XV . They come from still green nooks , woods old and hoary , The silent work of many a summer night , Ere those tall trees attained their giant glory ...
... gray old tilted cart appear , Moving so slow , you think he never will get there . XV . They come from still green nooks , woods old and hoary , The silent work of many a summer night , Ere those tall trees attained their giant glory ...
Página 40
... gray old finger - post Stands like Time's land - mark , pointing to decay ; The very roads it once marked out are lost : The common was encroached on every day By grasping men who bore an unjust sway And rent the gift from Charity's ...
... gray old finger - post Stands like Time's land - mark , pointing to decay ; The very roads it once marked out are lost : The common was encroached on every day By grasping men who bore an unjust sway And rent the gift from Charity's ...
Página 47
... grassy hills . John Keats . TO A BEE . THOU wert out betimes , thou busy , busy Bee ! As abroad I took my early way , Before the cow from her resting - place Had risen up and left her trace On the meadow , with dew so gray , Saw.
... grassy hills . John Keats . TO A BEE . THOU wert out betimes , thou busy , busy Bee ! As abroad I took my early way , Before the cow from her resting - place Had risen up and left her trace On the meadow , with dew so gray , Saw.
Página 48
... gray , Saw I thee , thou busy , busy Bee . Thou wert working late , thou busy , busy Bee ! After the fall of the cistus flower ; When the primrose of evening was ready to burst , I heard thee last as I saw thee first ; In the silence of ...
... gray , Saw I thee , thou busy , busy Bee . Thou wert working late , thou busy , busy Bee ! After the fall of the cistus flower ; When the primrose of evening was ready to burst , I heard thee last as I saw thee first ; In the silence of ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Under Green Leaves: William Shakespeare, William Blake, John Keats, Mary ... Richard Henry Stoddard Vista previa limitada - 2018 |
Términos y frases comunes
Alfred Tennyson amid ANDREW MARVELL beauty beneath birds bless blossoms blue boughs bowers breath breeze bright brook BUNCE & HUNTINGTON busy Bee clouds Cuckoo daisies deep delight dewy dost doth earth ECHOING GREEN eyes fair flowers George Darley glad golden grass greenwood GRONGAR HILL grove happy Hark hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh trolollie hither John Clare John Keats landscape lark leaves light linnet Little lamb lollie Lord Thurlow love good-morrow meadow meads merry murmuring Muse nest night NIGHT SONG nightingale nook o'er pipe Pluck primrose RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Robert Herrick round shade shepherd silver sing skies sleep soft SONG sound Spring star stream SUMMER MORNING sunny sweet thee thou art thou busy tree vale violets voice Wake wander weary wend wild Cherry-tree William Blake William Wordsworth wind wings woods
Pasajes populares
Página 13 - 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. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Página 27 - To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
Página 20 - Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Página 90 - O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Página 96 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath...
Página 14 - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: — But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
Página 60 - Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade.
Página 96 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, She stood in. tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Página 18 - To BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last.
Página 26 - Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...