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Allan Cunningham beauty beneath bird born bower breast breath bright brow calm Charles Dibdin child Christ's Hospital clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight dewy doth dream earth Erin go bragh fair fame fancy farewell feel flowers friends genius gentle grace grave green grief happy hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Kirke White holy orders hope hour human labour Leigh Hunt light living Lochinvar lonely look Lord Lord Byron maid Mary merry heart mind morning mother mountain nature ne'er never night numbers o'er pain pale passion poems Poet poetry rill Robert Southey rose round sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star sweet tears thee thine things Thomas Hood thou art thought Twas voice wander waves weary weep wild wind wings writings young youth
Seite 120 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Seite 40 - 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.
Seite 255 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Seite 9 - The world is too much with us : late and soon. Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; It moves us not.
Seite 6 - The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet; The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Seite 47 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Seite 6 - Hence in a season of calm weather > Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Seite 120 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Seite 149 - A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, — And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast : And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.
Seite 5 - Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized...