A Household Book of English Poetry, 160È£Macmillan, 1870 - 438ÆäÀÌÁö |
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43 ÆäÀÌÁö
... grave of grace , the mole of Nature's rust , The wrack of wit , the wrong of every right ; In sum , an ill whose harms no tongue can tell ; In which to live is death , to die is hell . Robert Southwell . 35 40 XLVI TO THE WORLD . A ...
... grave of grace , the mole of Nature's rust , The wrack of wit , the wrong of every right ; In sum , an ill whose harms no tongue can tell ; In which to live is death , to die is hell . Robert Southwell . 35 40 XLVI TO THE WORLD . A ...
53 ÆäÀÌÁö
... grave ! 5 ¥É¥Ï 15 20 LVII William Shakespeare . ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY . Mortality behold and fear ! What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie , had realms ...
... grave ! 5 ¥É¥Ï 15 20 LVII William Shakespeare . ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY . Mortality behold and fear ! What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie , had realms ...
57 ÆäÀÌÁö
... grave , When we have wandered all our ways , Shuts up the story of our days : But from this earth , this grave , this dust , My God shall raise me up , I trust . LXIII Sir Walter Raleigh . EASTER MORNING . Most glorious Lord of life ...
... grave , When we have wandered all our ways , Shuts up the story of our days : But from this earth , this grave , this dust , My God shall raise me up , I trust . LXIII Sir Walter Raleigh . EASTER MORNING . Most glorious Lord of life ...
67 ÆäÀÌÁö
... time , and to thy grave fall nigher ; But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire . William Habington . 5 IO LXXV THE SURRENDER . My once dear Love ! hapless F 2 of English Poetry . 67 Whose light no jealous clouds obscure, ...
... time , and to thy grave fall nigher ; But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire . William Habington . 5 IO LXXV THE SURRENDER . My once dear Love ! hapless F 2 of English Poetry . 67 Whose light no jealous clouds obscure, ...
71 ÆäÀÌÁö
... grave were growing green , A winding - sheet drawn ower my een , And I in Helen's arms lying , On fair Kirconnell lea . I wish I were where Helen lies : Night and day on me she cries ; And I am weary of the skies , Since my Love died ...
... grave were growing green , A winding - sheet drawn ower my een , And I in Helen's arms lying , On fair Kirconnell lea . I wish I were where Helen lies : Night and day on me she cries ; And I am weary of the skies , Since my Love died ...
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appear bear beauty beneath bird breath bright clear clouds crown dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth English eyes face fair fall fear flow flowers give glory golden gone grace grave green grow hand happy hast hath head hear heart heaven hope hour John King land leaves less light lines live look Lord mind morn mother nature never night o'er once pain pass peace pleasure poem poet praise rest rise rose round seemed seen shine sight sing sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit spring stand stars sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought trees true turn voice walks weep wind woods youth ¥É¥Ï
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248 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
282 ÆäÀÌÁö - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
85 ÆäÀÌÁö - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
257 ÆäÀÌÁö - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
285 ÆäÀÌÁö - What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
215 ÆäÀÌÁö - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
339 ÆäÀÌÁö - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
26 ÆäÀÌÁö - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
51 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
293 ÆäÀÌÁö - O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed ; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral ! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shall remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, ! " Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.