ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
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طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
beams beauty behold BEILBY PORTEUS beneath bless blest bliss BORN breast breath bright calm clouds dark death deep delight DIED doth earth EBENEZER ELLIOT English poetry eternal fear FELICIA HEMANS flowers GEORGE CRABBE GILES FLETCHER gloom glorious glory glow grace grave hand happy hast hath heart heaven HENRY KIRKE WHITE holy hope hour HYMN immortal LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON life's light live look Lord MARK AKENSIDE mighty mind morning mortal mountains nature nature's night numbers o'er peace pleasure poetry poets praise prayer pride rest rill rise ROBERT SOUTHEY round sacred scene shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tempest thee THEOCRITUS thine things thou art thought toil tree trembling truth vale virtue voice wave wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings youth
الصفحة 57 - Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy and confined, from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come...
الصفحة 201 - To die, to sleep ; To sleep : perchance to dream : ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life...
الصفحة 427 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
الصفحة 202 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — O Sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...
الصفحة 323 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
الصفحة 142 - We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbour and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky : The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask ; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
الصفحة 373 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
الصفحة 9 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
الصفحة 353 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.