British Poets of the Nineteenth Century: Selections from Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, Byron, Shelly, Keats, Landor, Tennyson, Elizabeth Barret Browning, Robert Browning, Clough, Arnold, Rossetti, Morris, Swinburne
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B. H. Sanborn & Company, 1904 - English poetry - 923 pages
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British Poets of the Nineteenth Century: Selections From Wordsworth ...
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arms beauty beneath blood breast breath bright brow child close clouds cold dark dead dear death deep dream earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet fire flowers gentle give gone green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour king lady land leaves less light lips live look Lord mind moon morn mother mountain Nature never night o'er once pain pale pass past rest rise rose round shade silent sing sleep smile soft song soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars stood strange sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thou art thought thro turn voice waves wild wind wings young youth
Page 547 - Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Page 41 - mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy...
Page 40 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go. That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Page 481 - A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me — That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and...
Page 41 - Haunted forever by the eternal mind,-?— Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by...
Page 368 - The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: That is the grasshopper's — he takes the lead In summer luxury, — he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth...
Page 337 - From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under. And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow...
Page 339 - 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 ? With thy...
Page 43 - Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward...
Page 97 - Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!