The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English LanguageSever and Francis, 1869 - 405 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 1
BOOK FIRST I SPRING SPRI king ; Then blooms each thing , then maids dance in a ring , Cold doth not sting , the pretty birds do sing , Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to - witta - woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay , Lambs ...
BOOK FIRST I SPRING SPRI king ; Then blooms each thing , then maids dance in a ring , Cold doth not sting , the pretty birds do sing , Cuckoo , jug - jug , pu - we , to - witta - woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay , Lambs ...
الصفحة 12
... things blesséd When all thy praises are expressed , Dear joy , how I do love thee ! As the birds do love the spring , Or the bees their careful king : Then in requite , sweet virgin , love me ! H. Constable L ' XVI ROSALINE IKE to the ...
... things blesséd When all thy praises are expressed , Dear joy , how I do love thee ! As the birds do love the spring , Or the bees their careful king : Then in requite , sweet virgin , love me ! H. Constable L ' XVI ROSALINE IKE to the ...
الصفحة 22
... things past , I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought , And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ; Then can I drown an eye , unused to flow , For precious friends hid in death's dateless night , And weep afresh love's long ...
... things past , I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought , And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ; Then can I drown an eye , unused to flow , For precious friends hid in death's dateless night , And weep afresh love's long ...
الصفحة 24
... , The basest weed outbraves his dignity : For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds . W. Shakespeare XXXIII THE LOVER'S APPEAL ND wilt thou leave me thus 24 The Golden Treasury.
... , The basest weed outbraves his dignity : For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds . W. Shakespeare XXXIII THE LOVER'S APPEAL ND wilt thou leave me thus 24 The Golden Treasury.
الصفحة 26
... thing did banish moan Save the nightingale alone . She , poor bird , as all forlorn , Lean'd her breast against a thorn , And there sung the dolefullest ditty That to hear it was great pity . Fie , fie , fie , now would she cry ; Tereu ...
... thing did banish moan Save the nightingale alone . She , poor bird , as all forlorn , Lean'd her breast against a thorn , And there sung the dolefullest ditty That to hear it was great pity . Fie , fie , fie , now would she cry ; Tereu ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
adieu Love Arethuse beauty behold beneath birds blest bonnie bower breast breath bright Brignall brow cheek chidden clouds County Guy dark dead dear death deep delight dost doth dream earth ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA eyes fair Fancy fear flowers frae gentle glory green happy hast hath Hazeldean hear heard heart heaven Heigh hills Kirconnell kiss lady leaves light live look'd Lord Lord Byron love's lover Lycidas lyre maid mind morn mountains Muse ne'er never night nonny Nymph o'er P. B. Shelley pale passion Pindar pleasure poems poet Poetry Rosaline rose round Rule Britannia seem'd shade Shakespeare shore sigh sight sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star stream sweet tears thee There's thine thou art thought tree voice waly waly waves weep wild winds wings Wordsworth Yarrow youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 213 - 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...
الصفحة 289 - Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Highe'r still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
الصفحة 21 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
الصفحة 353 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce. My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
الصفحة 76 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May; Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.
الصفحة 366 - 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.
الصفحة 369 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years
الصفحة 74 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
الصفحة 174 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign' d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
الصفحة 351 - mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height The locks of the approaching storm.