The English Poets, المجلد 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 |
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الصفحة 31
... fields , or woods . End these my days , indwellers of the woods , Take this my life , ye deep and raging floods ; Sun , never rise to clear me with thy light , Horror and darkness , keep a lasting night ; Consume me , care , with thy ...
... fields , or woods . End these my days , indwellers of the woods , Take this my life , ye deep and raging floods ; Sun , never rise to clear me with thy light , Horror and darkness , keep a lasting night ; Consume me , care , with thy ...
الصفحة 32
... fields with flow'rs are deck'd in every hue , The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue : Here is the pleasant place , And every thing , save her , who all should grace . TO CHLORIS . [ From Madrigals and Epigrams . ] 32 THE ...
... fields with flow'rs are deck'd in every hue , The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue : Here is the pleasant place , And every thing , save her , who all should grace . TO CHLORIS . [ From Madrigals and Epigrams . ] 32 THE ...
الصفحة 39
... field , Suck'd from his sleep - seal'd lips balm for her sore : Whilst I embraced the shadow of my death , I dreaming did far greater pleasure prove , And quaff'd with Cupid sugar'd draughts of love Then , Jove - like , feeding on a ...
... field , Suck'd from his sleep - seal'd lips balm for her sore : Whilst I embraced the shadow of my death , I dreaming did far greater pleasure prove , And quaff'd with Cupid sugar'd draughts of love Then , Jove - like , feeding on a ...
الصفحة 48
... field , I freely offer , and ere long Will bring you more , more sweet and strong ; Till when , humbly leave I take , Lest the great Pan do awake , That sleeping lies in a deep glade , Under a broad beech's shade . I must go , I must ...
... field , I freely offer , and ere long Will bring you more , more sweet and strong ; Till when , humbly leave I take , Lest the great Pan do awake , That sleeping lies in a deep glade , Under a broad beech's shade . I must go , I must ...
الصفحة 69
... fields to make her nosegay , of the boys searching the woods for bird's eggs or hunting the squirrel from tree to tree . It is in such pictures that the reader of Britannia's Pastorals finds his chief pleasure . Browne cannot be said to ...
... fields to make her nosegay , of the boys searching the woods for bird's eggs or hunting the squirrel from tree to tree . It is in such pictures that the reader of Britannia's Pastorals finds his chief pleasure . Browne cannot be said to ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley crown death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson King Lady light live Lord lost Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise reign rose sacred shade shalt shepherds shine sighs sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep winds wings write youth
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الصفحة 14 - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
الصفحة 337 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
الصفحة 218 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
الصفحة 178 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
الصفحة 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
الصفحة 454 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.
الصفحة 311 - And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus
الصفحة 357 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.
الصفحة 301 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
الصفحة 20 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part.