Sibylline Leaves: A Collection of Poems, المجلد 1

الغلاف الأمامي
Rest Fenner, 1817 - 303 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 38 - I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.
الصفحة 37 - Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row." And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" The Hermit crossed his brow. "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say What manner of man art thou?
الصفحة 27 - Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.
الصفحة 10 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
الصفحة 22 - My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light — almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost.
الصفحة 35 - Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said — "And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them. Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolfs young." "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look — (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared
الصفحة 23 - The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot" from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide.
الصفحة 21 - Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole ! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.
الصفحة 164 - Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
الصفحة 30 - Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.

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