"Under Green Leaves.": A Book of Rural PoemsRichard Henry Stoddard Bunce & Huntington, 1865 - 96 ページ |
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13 ページ
... hath stayed ; Blushing red and purest white Daintily to love invite Every woman , every maid . Cherries kissing as they grow , And inviting men to taste , Apples even ripe below , Winding gently to the waist : All love's emblems , and ...
... hath stayed ; Blushing red and purest white Daintily to love invite Every woman , every maid . Cherries kissing as they grow , And inviting men to taste , Apples even ripe below , Winding gently to the waist : All love's emblems , and ...
31 ページ
... she doth refuse , For only once does Morn her sun - dyed garments use . II . No print of sheep - track yet hath crushed a flower ; The spider's woof with silvery dew is hung 31 As it was beaded ere the daylight hour : The George Herbert.
... she doth refuse , For only once does Morn her sun - dyed garments use . II . No print of sheep - track yet hath crushed a flower ; The spider's woof with silvery dew is hung 31 As it was beaded ere the daylight hour : The George Herbert.
32 ページ
... Hath yoked his golden steeds , the glorious race to run . " IV . Those dusky foragers , the noisy rooks , Have from their green high city - gates rushed out , To rummage furrowy fields and flowery nooks ; On yonder branch now stands ...
... Hath yoked his golden steeds , the glorious race to run . " IV . Those dusky foragers , the noisy rooks , Have from their green high city - gates rushed out , To rummage furrowy fields and flowery nooks ; On yonder branch now stands ...
35 ページ
... Hath changed its dusky for a golden green , In honor of this lovely Summer Morn : The rutted roads did never seem so clean ; There is no dust upon the wayside thorn , every bud looks out as if but newly born . For XII . 35 A cottage ...
... Hath changed its dusky for a golden green , In honor of this lovely Summer Morn : The rutted roads did never seem so clean ; There is no dust upon the wayside thorn , every bud looks out as if but newly born . For XII . 35 A cottage ...
53 ページ
... hath its own winged mariners to give it melody : Thou seest their glittering fans outspread , all gleaming like red gold ; And hark ! with shrill pipe musical , their merry course they hold . God bless them all , those little ones , who ...
... hath its own winged mariners to give it melody : Thou seest their glittering fans outspread , all gleaming like red gold ; And hark ! with shrill pipe musical , their merry course they hold . God bless them all , those little ones , who ...
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Alfred Tennyson amid ANDREW MARVELL beauty beneath birds bless blossoms blue boughs bowers breath breeze bright brook BUNCE & HUNTINGTON busy Bee clouds Cuckoo daisies deep delight dewy dost doth earth ECHOING GREEN eyes fair flowers George Darley glad golden grass greenwood GRONGAR HILL grove happy Hark hast hath hear heart heaven Heigh trolollie hither John Clare John Keats landscape lark leaves light linnet Little lamb lollie Lord Thurlow love good-morrow meadow meads merry murmuring Muse nest night NIGHT SONG nightingale nook o'er pipe Pluck primrose RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Robert Herrick round shade shepherd silver sing skies sleep soft SONG sound Spring star stream SUMMER MORNING sunny sweet thee thou art thou busy tree vale violets voice Wake wander weary wend wild Cherry-tree William Blake William Wordsworth wind wings woods
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13 ページ - Lines Written in Early Spring I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
27 ページ - To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
20 ページ - Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
90 ページ - O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
96 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...
14 ページ - tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure: — But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
60 ページ - Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade.
96 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 Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
18 ページ - To BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last.
26 ページ - Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...