Early English Poems: Chaucer to Pope : Chiefly Unabridged : Illustrated with Upwards of One Hundred Engravings on Wood, from Drawings by Eminent Artists
S. Low, son, and Company, 1863 - English poetry - 308 pages
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Page 154 - 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.
Page 180 - Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide: There like a bird it sits, and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings; And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Page 107 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Page 126 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 142 - WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 181 - TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne...
Page 134 - Get up, get up for shame ! the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree. Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east. Above an hour since ; yet you not drest, Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? When all the birds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns : 'tis sin, Nay, profanation, to keep in, — Whenas a thousand virgins on this day,...
Page 61 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks ; thy languisht grace To me, that feel the like, thy state descries...
Page 21 - PERSOUN of a toun ; But riche he was of holy thought and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche ; His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.