Thoughts on the PoetsC.S. Francis & Company, 1846 - 318 pages |
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Page 310
... she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness , and a smile And eloquence of beauty , and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy , that steals away Their sharpness , ere he ...
... she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness , and a smile And eloquence of beauty , and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy , that steals away Their sharpness , ere he ...
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Expressions et termes fréquents
admiration affections Alfieri amid appear ardent attractive awakened bard Barry Cornwall beauty blank verse bosom breathes Byron calm character charm cheer chiefly Crabbe death delight destiny devoted dreams earnest Edinburgh Review eloquence exalted excited experience expression eyes faith fame fancy feeling FELICIA HEMANS flowers genius genuine gifted glow Goldsmith grace happy heart heaven honour hope human idea imagination impression influence interest Italy JOANNA BAILLIE Keats labours language Leigh Hunt light literary literature lover lyre Madame de Stael ment mental Metastasio mind minstrel moral muse nature ness never noble o'er passion pathy peculiar Petrarch pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Queen Mab rare remarkable rhymes Rydal Mount scenes seems sense sensibility sentiment Shelley smile song soul spirit style sweet sympathy taste tender thee thing thou thought tion tone traits true truth verse Victor Alfieri woman Wordsworth writings young youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 235 - Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Page 84 - Kent. Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
Page 223 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence...
Page 60 - See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Page 250 - Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day ; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
Page 147 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Page 310 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.
Page 278 - Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
Page 98 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Page 192 - MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.