"Under Green Leaves.": A Book of Rural PoemsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce & Huntington, 1865 - 96 páginas |
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Página 25
... primrose gay , Starts , thy most curious voice to hear , And imitates thy lay . What time the pea puts on the bloom , Thon fliest thy vocal vale , 25 An annual guest in other lands , Another Spring to William Wordsworth.
... primrose gay , Starts , thy most curious voice to hear , And imitates thy lay . What time the pea puts on the bloom , Thon fliest thy vocal vale , 25 An annual guest in other lands , Another Spring to William Wordsworth.
Página 26
... vale , Of sunshine and of flowers , Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours . Thrice welcome , darling of the Spring ! E'en yet thou art to me THE GREEN LINNET . No bird , but an invisible 26 66 UNDER GREEN LEAVES . " John Logan.
... vale , Of sunshine and of flowers , Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours . Thrice welcome , darling of the Spring ! E'en yet thou art to me THE GREEN LINNET . No bird , but an invisible 26 66 UNDER GREEN LEAVES . " John Logan.
Página 34
... vale , edgèd with fir - trees dun . A little bird now hops beside the brook , " Peaking " about like an affrighted nun ; And ever as she drinks doth upward look , Twitters and drinks again , then seeks her cloistered nook . SUMMER ...
... vale , edgèd with fir - trees dun . A little bird now hops beside the brook , " Peaking " about like an affrighted nun ; And ever as she drinks doth upward look , Twitters and drinks again , then seeks her cloistered nook . SUMMER ...
Página 38
... vale , Now near , remote , or lost , just as it blows . The red cock sends his voice upon the gale ; From the thatched grange his answering rival crows : The milkmaid o'er the dew - bathed meadow goes , Her tucked - up kirtle ever ...
... vale , Now near , remote , or lost , just as it blows . The red cock sends his voice upon the gale ; From the thatched grange his answering rival crows : The milkmaid o'er the dew - bathed meadow goes , Her tucked - up kirtle ever ...
Página 71
... And mark yon soft white clouds that rest Above our vale , a moveless throng ; The cattle , on the mountain's breast , Enjoy , the grateful shadow long . Oh , how unlike those merry hours In early June Lord Thurlow William Cullen Bryant.
... And mark yon soft white clouds that rest Above our vale , a moveless throng ; The cattle , on the mountain's breast , Enjoy , the grateful shadow long . Oh , how unlike those merry hours In early June Lord Thurlow William Cullen Bryant.
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...