Selections from the Poetry of Lord ByronH. Holt, 1900 - 412 páginas |
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Página 1
... thee in truth or fancy seem'd : Nor , having seen thee , shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd- To such as see thee not my words were weak ; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak ? Ah ...
... thee in truth or fancy seem'd : Nor , having seen thee , shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd- To such as see thee not my words were weak ; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak ? Ah ...
Página 2
... thee be ever more than friend : This much , dear maid , accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend , But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend . Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; And long ...
... thee be ever more than friend : This much , dear maid , accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend , But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend . Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; And long ...
Página 3
... thee from thy sacred hill ; Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long - deserted shrine , Where , save that feeble fountain , all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a ...
... thee from thy sacred hill ; Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long - deserted shrine , Where , save that feeble fountain , all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a ...
Página 7
... thee , My native land - Good night ! A few short hours , and he will rise , To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds ...
... thee , My native land - Good night ! A few short hours , and he will rise , To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds ...
Página 8
... thee , my bark , I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to , So not again to mine . Welcome , welcome , ye dark blue waves ! And when you fail my sight , Welcome , ye deserts , and ye caves ! My ...
... thee , my bark , I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to , So not again to mine . Welcome , welcome , ye dark blue waves ! And when you fail my sight , Welcome , ye deserts , and ye caves ! My ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Abbot Æschylus Alps Astarte Athens beauty behold beneath blood breast breath brow Byron Byron's note Cain canto Capitoline hill Childe Harold Chillon clouds Countess Guiccioli dark death deep Don Juan doth dread dream earth edition eternal eyes fair fame Faust feel gaze Giaour glory grave Greece hath heart heaven Hell hour human immortal Jungfrau lake land lines living Lord Lord Byron Lucifer lyric Manfred Manfred's Mazeppa mind mortal mountains nature ne'er never night o'er ocean pass'd passage passion Pausanias perhaps poem poet poet's poetic poetry Prisoner of Chillon rhyme rock sail Samian wine scene seem'd Shelley Shipwreck shore Siege of Corinth smile song soul spirit stanzas star story suggested sweet tears thee thine things thought Twas Venice verse waters wave wild wind Witch woes words Wordsworth written youth ΙΟ
Pasajes populares
Página 153 - twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Página 153 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Página 303 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain.
Página 128 - There is the moral of all human tales; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page...
Página 263 - The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! "Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Página 264 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Página 246 - Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Página 296 - She walks in beauty like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Página 266 - But words are things ; and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think...
Página 291 - These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear...