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beauty behold breath bright Charlotte Smith charm cheerful Cornhill Crown 8vo dark dear death delight divine dost doth dream earth Edmund Spenser Elizabeth Elizaneth Barrett Browning English Sonnets eyes fair Faith fame fancy fear feel Felice Orsini flowers grace happy Hartley Coleridge hast hath heart heaven heavenly hope John Keats John Milton Joseph Blanco White Julian Fane Lady language light live Lord love thee Love's mind Mistress morn Muse never night o'er passion Paternoster Row Petrarch pleasure poems poet poetical poetry praise reader Samuel Daniel Shakespeare shine sight sing sleep song sorrow soul speare spirit story sweet tears thine things Thomas Warton thou art thought Time's toil touches verse voice volume Walter Savage Landor weary weep William Caldwell Roscoe William Lisle Bowles William Shake William Words Wordsworth worth written
Page 31 - Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Page 48 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Page 102 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity . The gentleness of heaven is on the sea : Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with His eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly.
Page 55 - come let us kiss and part, — Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free...
Page 35 - Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Page 42 - Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change ? Why, with the time, do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, • That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
Page 26 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Page 210 - Still roll ; where all the aspects of misery Predominate; whose strong effects are such As he must bear, being powerless to redress; And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man...