Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Page 4
... hope to standen in his ladies grace . Embrouded was he , as it were a mede All full of freshé flourés , white and rede . Singing he was , or floyting ? all the day : He was as freshe as is the moneth of May . Short was his goune , with ...
... hope to standen in his ladies grace . Embrouded was he , as it were a mede All full of freshé flourés , white and rede . Singing he was , or floyting ? all the day : He was as freshe as is the moneth of May . Short was his goune , with ...
Page 19
... hope to rise , yet fear to fall . A chance may win that by mischance was lost ; That net that holds no great takes little fish ; In some things all , in all things none are cross'd ; Few all they need , but none have all they wish ...
... hope to rise , yet fear to fall . A chance may win that by mischance was lost ; That net that holds no great takes little fish ; In some things all , in all things none are cross'd ; Few all they need , but none have all they wish ...
Page 24
... , And you , good sir , I wote that of youre toyle And labors long , through which ye hether came , Ye both forwearied be : therefore a whyle 4 Faith . 5 Hope . I read you rest , and to your bowres recoyle 24 SELECT POETRY .
... , And you , good sir , I wote that of youre toyle And labors long , through which ye hether came , Ye both forwearied be : therefore a whyle 4 Faith . 5 Hope . I read you rest , and to your bowres recoyle 24 SELECT POETRY .
Page 33
... hope of promist heavenly place Into the mouth of death , to sinners dew ; And all his offspring into thraldome threw , When they for ever should in bonds remaine , Of never - dead , yet ever - dying paine . Till that great Lord of Love ...
... hope of promist heavenly place Into the mouth of death , to sinners dew ; And all his offspring into thraldome threw , When they for ever should in bonds remaine , Of never - dead , yet ever - dying paine . Till that great Lord of Love ...
Page 55
... hope to fill His unsmooth tongue , and his deprostrate style ? O , raise thou from his corse thy now - entomb'd exile ! One touch would rouse me from my sluggish herse , One word would call me to my wished home , One look would polish ...
... hope to fill His unsmooth tongue , and his deprostrate style ? O , raise thou from his corse thy now - entomb'd exile ! One touch would rouse me from my sluggish herse , One word would call me to my wished home , One look would polish ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
beauty birds born breath bright bring clouds dark dead death deep delight died doth early earth eyes face fair fall fame fear field fire flowers friends give grace grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hills honour hope hour human Italy king land learned leaves less light living look Lord mind morning mortal nature never night o'er once pass play pleasure poems poet poetry rest rich rise rocks rose round seems shade shine sight silent sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears Tell thee thine things thou thought trees true turn voice walks wave wind wings woods youth
Popular passages
Page 253 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Page 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Page 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Page 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 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.
Page 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Page 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Page 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 149 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Page 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Page 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 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.