 | Samuel Greatheed, Daniel Parken, Theophilus Williams, Josiah Conder, Thomas Price, Jonathan Edwards Ryland, Edwin Paxton Hood - 1820 - عدد الصفحات: 636
...Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook .,, Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers : And sometimes...brook ; Or by a cyder press, with patient look, Thou watchcst the last oozings hours by hours. ' Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? Think... | |
 | Ralph Griffiths, George Edward Griffiths - 1820 - عدد الصفحات: 574
...wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next sw.ath and all its twined flowers : And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. III. ' Where are the... | |
 | William Jillard Hort - 1822 - عدد الصفحات: 234
...winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep Drowsy with fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs... | |
 | Alaric Alexander Watts - 1829 - عدد الصفحات: 424
...; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath, and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...hast thy music too ; While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue Then in a wailful choir the small gnats... | |
 | Alaric Alexander Watts - 1829 - عدد الصفحات: 476
...; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath, and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...hast thy music too ; While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue Then in a wailful choir the small gnats... | |
 | Edward Wedlake Brayley - 1834 - عدد الصفحات: 432
...words, the Son., is deep and into our hearts of our own decay ; but as poor KeaU beautifully sings, Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they...hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue. We have understood, that objects in no fewer... | |
 | Edward Wedlake Brayley - 1834 - عدد الصفحات: 428
...words, the SOUL, is deep and into our hearts of our own decay ; but as poor Keats beautifully sings, Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they...hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue. We have understood, that objects in no fewer... | |
 | Alexander Whitelaw - 1835 - عدد الصفحات: 476
...; Or in a half-reaped furrow sound asleep. Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while the lonik Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes,...oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring ? Aye, where are they ? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the... | |
 | Author of The young man's own book - 1836 - عدد الصفحات: 336
...; Or in a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs... | |
 | William Martin - 1838 - عدد الصفحات: 368
...: Or, on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes...keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or, by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs... | |
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Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across... 
