Robert Burns: As a Poet, and as a Man |
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Página 28
... That fires not , wins not , weeps not now , And but for that chill changeless brow , Where cold obstruction's apathy , Appals the gazing mourner's heart , As if to him , it could impart The doom he dreads , yet dwells upon : Yes ...
... That fires not , wins not , weeps not now , And but for that chill changeless brow , Where cold obstruction's apathy , Appals the gazing mourner's heart , As if to him , it could impart The doom he dreads , yet dwells upon : Yes ...
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Términos y frases comunes
appear associations beauty bosom breath Burns Burns's called character charms considered conversation criticism death divine Edinburgh effect elements English enter expression fancy father feeling felt flowers genius give given glory hand happy hear heart highest honor hope human humor idea ideal illustrate imagery impression inspiration learned less letter light lines literature living look manners master material mean meet mind moral muse nature never night noble objects once person pleasure poem poet poetic poetry present produced remarkable Robert rules says scenes Scotland Scottish seems seen sentiments simple songs soon soul speak spirit spring stream subjects sweet sympathy taste tender theory thing thought tion touch true truth various verses walk whole wish woman write written young youth
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Página 64 - An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell — Till crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o...
Página 90 - O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us And foolish notion : What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n devotion ! EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.
Página 89 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Página 44 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare: — "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents...
Página 179 - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
Página 133 - There was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments ; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, and glowed (I say literally glowed] when he spoke with feeling or interest.
Página 105 - Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles.
Página 174 - We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or structure of our souls, so cannot account for those seeming caprices in them that one should be particularly pleased with this thing, or struck with that, which, on minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the harebell, the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
Página 28 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
Página 20 - And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green. To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon. Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.