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The Laureates of England: Ben Jonson to Alfred Tennyson
Frances Louise Morse Howland
Vista completa - 1895
The Laureates of England, from Ben Jonson to Alfred Tennyson
Sin vista previa disponible - 2012
The Laureates of England: From Ben Jonson to Alfred Tennyson
Kenyon West,Frances Louise Morse Howland,Frederick C. Gordon
Sin vista previa disponible - 2009
beauty Ben Jonson beneath blessed breath bright charm Cibber clouds Colley Cibber crown dark Davenant dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream Dryden Dunciad earth English poetry Eusden eyes fair Falconbridge fear feel flower George II gleam glory grace happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven Henry James Pye honour hope hour human Inchcape Rock Jane Shore Jonson Kilve King laureate Laureateship laurel light live Locksley Hall look Lord Chamberlain mighty mind moon morning muse Nahum Tate nature never night o'er odes pain passion peace pleasure poem poet poet laureate poetry praise rocks round shade Shadwell shine shore silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound Southey spirit spring stars stream sweet tears thee thine things THOMAS SHADWELL thou art thought thro truth voice wild wind Wordsworth Yarrow youth
Página 210 - The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. " The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Página 209 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
Página 15 - Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever, Thou that mak'st...
Página 333 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Página 221 - These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration...
Página 245 - Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains ; each a mighty Voice : In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty ! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fough'tst against Him ; but hast vainly striven , Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left ; For...
Página 228 - High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may. Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing...
Página 14 - Soul of the age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
Página 17 - STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed; Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.