The Poetic Old-world: A Little Book for TouristsH. Holt, 1908 - 513 páginas |
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Resultados 1-5 de 52
Página 17
... soul of music shed , Now hangs as mute , on Tara's walls , As if that soul were fled . So sleeps the pride of former days , So glory's thrill is o'er , And hearts that once beat high for praise , Now feel that pulse no more . No more ...
... soul of music shed , Now hangs as mute , on Tara's walls , As if that soul were fled . So sleeps the pride of former days , So glory's thrill is o'er , And hearts that once beat high for praise , Now feel that pulse no more . No more ...
Página 36
... souls upon the sanguine ground . Alarmed at this , he dared no longer stay , But left his bride , and as a pilgrim gray , With staff and beads , went forth to weep and fast and pray . In vain his Felice sighed , nay , smiled in vain ...
... souls upon the sanguine ground . Alarmed at this , he dared no longer stay , But left his bride , and as a pilgrim gray , With staff and beads , went forth to weep and fast and pray . In vain his Felice sighed , nay , smiled in vain ...
Página 37
... soul with fear , Nor conscience drives him from a home so dear : The lovely Felice of the present day Dreads not her lord should from her presence stray ; He feels the charm that binds him to a seat Where love and honor , joy and duty ...
... soul with fear , Nor conscience drives him from a home so dear : The lovely Felice of the present day Dreads not her lord should from her presence stray ; He feels the charm that binds him to a seat Where love and honor , joy and duty ...
Página 45
... souls , And numb the elastic powers . Till having us'd our nerves with bliss and teen , And tir'd upon a thousand schemes our wit , To the just - pausing Genius we remit Our worn - out life , and are what we have been . Thou hast not ...
... souls , And numb the elastic powers . Till having us'd our nerves with bliss and teen , And tir'd upon a thousand schemes our wit , To the just - pausing Genius we remit Our worn - out life , and are what we have been . Thou hast not ...
Página 56
... soul . Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen , And waste its sweetness on the desert air . Some village Hampden , that with dauntless breast The little ...
... soul . Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen , And waste its sweetness on the desert air . Some village Hampden , that with dauntless breast The little ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Alfred Tennyson beauty bells beneath Bingen blue Bouillabaisse breast breath bright brow Bruges calm Camelot Carcassonne castle Church cried dark dead dear deep dream earth eyes fair flowers Francesco Petrarca gazed German's fatherland Gilpin gleam golden grave gray green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Heinrich Heine Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hills hour Ist's king Lady of Shalott Lake land light live look Lord Lord Byron Matthew Arnold mighty morning mountain never night o'er once pass pines rats Rhine river Robert Southey rocks round Rüdesheim Saint shadow shine shore silent sing sleep smile song soul sound stone stood stream street sweet tell thee Thomas Bailey Aldrich thou thought thro tout tower town trees Twas Vaucluse voice walls waters waves wild William Wordsworth wind wonder woods youth δὲ ἐν καὶ
Pasajes populares
Página 326 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Página 246 - Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Página 475 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Página 102 - Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance — If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence...
Página 248 - Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God...
Página 79 - THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Página 54 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, •*- The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Página 79 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Página 472 - 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?
Página 18 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made ; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.