A Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry |
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Page 13
... tree's more spacious root , Then looking on the ground , The shape of her most dainty foot Imprinted there I found . Which stuck there like a curious seal , As though it should forbid Us , wretched mortals , to reveal What under it was ...
... tree's more spacious root , Then looking on the ground , The shape of her most dainty foot Imprinted there I found . Which stuck there like a curious seal , As though it should forbid Us , wretched mortals , to reveal What under it was ...
Page 47
... TREE . UNDER the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me , And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat , Come hither , come hither , come hither Here shall he see No enemy , But winter and rough weather . Who doth ambition shun ...
... TREE . UNDER the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me , And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat , Come hither , come hither , come hither Here shall he see No enemy , But winter and rough weather . Who doth ambition shun ...
Page 56
... tree |. subdu'd eyes , Albeit unus'd to the melting mood , Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum . Set you down this : And say besides , -that in Aleppo once , Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian ...
... tree |. subdu'd eyes , Albeit unus'd to the melting mood , Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum . Set you down this : And say besides , -that in Aleppo once , Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian ...
Page 58
... tree : Believe me , love , it was the nightingale . Romeo . It was the lark , the herald of the morn , No nightingale : look , love , what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; Night's candles are burnt out , and ...
... tree : Believe me , love , it was the nightingale . Romeo . It was the lark , the herald of the morn , No nightingale : look , love , what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; Night's candles are burnt out , and ...
Page 87
... 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 . What , were ye born to be , An hour or half's delight , And so to bid good - night ? ' Twas pity ...
... 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 . What , were ye born to be , An hour or half's delight , And so to bid good - night ? ' Twas pity ...
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Common terms and phrases
ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
Popular passages
Page 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Page 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Page 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 273 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Page 103 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 274 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Page 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Page 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.