Pictorial Calendar of the Seasons, ...Mary Botham Howitt H. G. Bohn, 1854 - 567 páginas |
Dentro del libro
Página 209
... showers a rain of melody . Like a poet hidden In the light of thought , Singing hymns unbidden Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it needed not . Like a high - born maiden In a palace tower , Soothing her love ...
... showers a rain of melody . Like a poet hidden In the light of thought , Singing hymns unbidden Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it needed not . Like a high - born maiden In a palace tower , Soothing her love ...
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Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Pictorial Calendar of the Seasons: Exhibiting the Pleasures, Pursuits, and ... Mary Botham Howitt,John Aikin Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
amongst ancient animal aphides appear autumn beautiful bees begin birds blossoms blue bough branches bright called Candlemas Christmas church clouds cockchafer cold colour corn cuckoo custom daisies dark delight died Druids earth eggs festival field fieldfare fire flowers forest frost garden grass green Hallow-eve harvest mouse hath head heart heaven hedges hour insects labour larvæ leaf leaves light look MARY HOWITT meadows merry Michaelmas misletoe month morning nature nest night nightingale o'er observed passed PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY plants Plough Monday poet quadrupeds queen rising ROBERT SOUTHEY Romans rose round Saxon says season seems seen sheep Shrove Tuesday sing snow song species spring stars stream summer swallow sweet thee thou thrush torpid trees walk weather whole wild WILLIAM HOWITT wind wings winter woods yellow young
Pasajes populares
Página 216 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Página 209 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower.
Página 209 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine ; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Página 147 - Thrice welcome, darling of the spring; Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing; A voice, a mystery...
Página 105 - ... Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company : I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with...
Página 105 - I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
Página 64 - Go, from the creatures thy instructions take; learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; learn from the beasts the physic of the field; thy arts of building from the bee receive ; learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave ; learn of the little nautilus to sail, spread the thin oar and catch the driving gale.
Página 210 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not ; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Página 548 - And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly tree.
Página 90 - It is the first mild day of March : Each minute sweeter than before. The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.