Hauptströmungen der Literatur des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts...

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E. Reiss, 1924 - Lake poets - 538 pages
 

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Page 371 - soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him. Oh make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They "11 shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own lov'd Island of sorrow.
Page 533 - Tis time this heart should be unmoved Since others it hath ceased to move Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! The flowers and fruits of love are gone, The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! My days are in the yellow leaf;
Page 533 - tis not thus — and 'tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now Where glory decks the hero's bier Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Was not more free.
Page 385 - One hope within two wills, one will beneath Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death, One heaven, one hell, one immortality And one annihilation! Woe is me The winged words on which my soul would pierce. Into the height of Love's rare universe Are chains of lead around its flight of fire — I pant, I sink, I tremble, I
Page 407 - lautet: When the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scattered, The rainbows glory is shed; When the lute is broken, Sweet notes are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
Page 316 - A dewy freshness fills the silent air, No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orb'd glory yonder Moon divine Beneath her steady ray Rolls through the dark blue
Page 406 - to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained One word is too often profaned For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother; And pity from thee more dear Than that from another.
Page 388 - Ye Mariners of England I That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breezel Your glorious Standard launch again To match another
Page 385 - Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound And our veins beat together; and our lips With other eloquence than words, eclipse The soul that burns between them; and the wells Which boil under our being's inmost cells, The fountains of our deepest life, shall be Confused in
Page 370 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing, But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild song of her native plains, Every note which he lov'd awaking, Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

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