The English poets, selections, ed. by T.H. Ward. Wordsworth to Dobell. Wordsworth to RossettiThomas Humphry Ward 1883 |
المحتوى
88 | |
95 | |
102 | |
114 | |
186 | |
190 | |
221 | |
227 | |
240 | |
257 | |
300 | |
306 | |
323 | |
334 | |
340 | |
346 | |
501 | |
518 | |
524 | |
531 | |
537 | |
544 | |
552 | |
558 | |
581 | |
589 | |
608 | |
615 | |
621 | |
629 | |
661 | |
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
ballads beauty beneath breast breath bright Brignall brow Byron calm Charles Lamb Childe Harold cloud cold Coleridge County Guy dæmons dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth EDWARD DOWDEN Emily Brontë Endymion eyes fair fame Fanny Brawne fear feel flowers gaze grave green hand happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour JOHN KEATS Keats lady leaves Leigh Hunt light live lone look Lyrical Ballads mind moon mortal mountains nature ne'er never night o'er passion poems poet poetic poetry Roncesvalles rose round Samian wine shade Shelley sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought truth Twas verse voice wandering waves weary weep wild wind wings Wordsworth youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 21 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive ; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay : For thou...
الصفحة 455 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
الصفحة 324 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
الصفحة 454 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal — yet do not grieve: She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
الصفحة 285 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime, — The image of Eternity, — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
الصفحة 375 - WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With...
الصفحة 20 - Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by,) To me was all in all. — I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite : a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest...
الصفحة 385 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain?
الصفحة 571 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints.
الصفحة 41 - No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day?