The Laurel and Lyre. Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth CenturyFrederick Warne and Company, 1879 - 400 ページ |
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... breathing kiss , He hears a saving angel speak- " Thy Love will yet revive ! " Eager to speak - but in terror mute ... breath , Listens in tears — for sleep — or death ! Then touches with a kiss her breast , Edderline's Dream . " O ...
... breathing kiss , He hears a saving angel speak- " Thy Love will yet revive ! " Eager to speak - but in terror mute ... breath , Listens in tears — for sleep — or death ! Then touches with a kiss her breast , Edderline's Dream . " O ...
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... Breathing o'er bosom , brow , and cheek , For their own fair , delightful sakes , And lays her lovely limbs at rest ; When , stirring like the wondrous flower That blossoms at the midnight hour , And only then - the Lady wakes ! From ...
... Breathing o'er bosom , brow , and cheek , For their own fair , delightful sakes , And lays her lovely limbs at rest ; When , stirring like the wondrous flower That blossoms at the midnight hour , And only then - the Lady wakes ! From ...
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... breath is roused to strife , Or hollow friendship's proffer'd balm , Polluting all the springs of life . I thought we met at silent night , And roam'd , as we were wont to roam , And pictured with a fond delight , The pleasures of our ...
... breath is roused to strife , Or hollow friendship's proffer'd balm , Polluting all the springs of life . I thought we met at silent night , And roam'd , as we were wont to roam , And pictured with a fond delight , The pleasures of our ...
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... breath Utter'd of Love and Death , And maiden grief , hidden and chid in vain . Oh , if in after years The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart , Bid not the pain depart ; But shed over my grave a few sad tears . Think of me ...
... breath Utter'd of Love and Death , And maiden grief , hidden and chid in vain . Oh , if in after years The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart , Bid not the pain depart ; But shed over my grave a few sad tears . Think of me ...
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... breath - stain on glass ; O maiden , the lovely and youthful , to thee How rose - touch'd the page of thy future must be ! By the past , if thou judge it , how little is there But blossoms that flourish , but hopes that are fair ! And ...
... breath - stain on glass ; O maiden , the lovely and youthful , to thee How rose - touch'd the page of thy future must be ! By the past , if thou judge it , how little is there But blossoms that flourish , but hopes that are fair ! And ...
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多く使われている語句
91 Lines ALARIC ALLAN CUNNINGHAM BARRY CORNWALL beauty beneath bird bless'd bloom bosom breast breath bright brow call'd CAROLINE BOWLES cheek child clouds cold dark dead dear death deep dream earth Eugene Aram face fade fair Farewell fear feel flowers gaze gentle gleam glory grave green grief hath heard heart heaven Here's hope hour JOHN KEATS kiss lady life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute lyre Mermaid Tavern MISS LANDON Mont Blanc morning mother ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd pride redundant song rock rose round seem'd shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star storm stream summer sweet tears thee thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought tomb tree Twas voice wallflower wandering wave weep wild wild dance wind wings youth
人気のある引用
70 ページ - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
69 ページ - Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
333 ページ - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
70 ページ - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down : The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
176 ページ - I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away, Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story...
69 ページ - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
71 ページ - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
40 ページ - That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense.
27 ページ - The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves...
379 ページ - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow.