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ancient Andrew Marvell animal appears Ariosto beauty Ben Jonson better called CHAPTER Chaucer death delight door doth dream Duke of Braganza earth eyes face Falstaff fancy father fear feel flowers Formica rufa genius gentle gentleman give graceful green Gualtier happy head heart heaven horse human imagination Jonathan Wilds kind king knew lady Lazarillo Leatherhead lived look Lord lover master doctor melancholy Milton mind Morgante morning nature never night noble Orlando Ovid pain Perfect Hand perhaps person Petrarch Phorbas piece pleasant pleasure poet queen reader Ronald round seems sense Shakspeare side sight Sir Philip Sydney Sisyphus sleep sort speak Spenser spirit stick story street sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought tion trees Triptolemus turned Vertumnus Virgil voice walk wife wind window wish word young
Page 102 - Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Page 37 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war; Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Page 121 - On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud Or painful to his slumbers; — easy, sweet, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain; Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers like a bride...
Page 212 - I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful - a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.
Page 191 - That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did...
Page 191 - Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Page 37 - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare...