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Red Letter Poems by English Men and Women (Classic Reprint)
Thomas Young Crowell
No preview available - 2016
art thou ARTEMIDORA beauty beneath bless blest blow born bosom breast breath bright brow Camelot charms cheek Childe Harold clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eyes fair fear flowers frae friends Giaour glory green hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour Inchcape Rock JOHN KEATS King Lady Lady of Shalott land lassie leaves light lips live look Lord Love's lute lyre maid moon morn ne'er never night nymph o'er pain pale poems praise pride rills rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree Twas voice wave weary ween weep wild wind wings YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY youth
Page 425 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
Page 39 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 481 - 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; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last...
Page 175 - The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 453 - Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them!
Page 483 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise: Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Page 298 - The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup, She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar —• "Now tread we a measure!
Page 425 - Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 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...
Page 40 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and...
Page 242 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that — That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a