The English Poets: SelectionsThomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 |
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Página xxvii
... thee from felicity awhile , And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain To tell my story ... ' Take of Milton that Miltonic passage : - Darken'd so , yet shone Above them all the arch - angel ; but his face Deep scars of thunder had ...
... thee from felicity awhile , And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain To tell my story ... ' Take of Milton that Miltonic passage : - Darken'd so , yet shone Above them all the arch - angel ; but his face Deep scars of thunder had ...
Página xxxix
... thee from felicity awhile ... And what is else not to be overcome ... ' O martyr souded in virginitee ! ' I answer : It has not and cannot have them ; it is the poetry of the builders of an age of prose and reason . Though they may ...
... thee from felicity awhile ... And what is else not to be overcome ... ' O martyr souded in virginitee ! ' I answer : It has not and cannot have them ; it is the poetry of the builders of an age of prose and reason . Though they may ...
Página 28
... thee to seke on me victórie , Syn I am thyn , and holly at thi wille ? What joye hastow thyn owen folk to spille ? ' Wel hastow , lord , ywroke on me thyn ire , Thow myghty god ! and dredeful for to greve ! Now mercy , god ! thow woost ...
... thee to seke on me victórie , Syn I am thyn , and holly at thi wille ? What joye hastow thyn owen folk to spille ? ' Wel hastow , lord , ywroke on me thyn ire , Thow myghty god ! and dredeful for to greve ! Now mercy , god ! thow woost ...
Página 40
... thee mochë ferre1 , I wol thee tellë what I am , And whider thou shalt , and why I cam To do thys , so that thou [ thee ] take Good herte , and not for ferë quake . ' ' Gladly , ' quod I. ' Now wel , ' quod he : ' First , I , that in my ...
... thee mochë ferre1 , I wol thee tellë what I am , And whider thou shalt , and why I cam To do thys , so that thou [ thee ] take Good herte , and not for ferë quake . ' ' Gladly , ' quod I. ' Now wel , ' quod he : ' First , I , that in my ...
Página 41
... thee , Not of thy verray neyghëbores , That dwellen almost at thy dores , Thou herest neyther that nor this , For ... thee to a place , Which that hight the Hous of Fame , To do thee som disport and game , 2 quite as . 1 holds , deems ...
... thee , Not of thy verray neyghëbores , That dwellen almost at thy dores , Thou herest neyther that nor this , For ... thee to a place , Which that hight the Hous of Fame , To do thee som disport and game , 2 quite as . 1 holds , deems ...
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Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Aeneid Astrophel and Stella ballads beauty Burns Canterbury Tales Chaucer Clerk Saunders death delight doth doun drede Edom English English poetry eyes Faery Queen fair fayre flour flowers Glasgerion gold grace grene gret grete gude hart hast hath heart heaven herte hire honour king lady live Lord lovers Lydgate Lyoun mede mind mony myght never night nocht nought Parlement of Foules Petrarch Piers Plowman poem poet poet's poetical poetry praise Quhat Quhen quhilk quod quoth Robin Robin Hood sall sche scho Scotch seyde shal Sidney sigh sing song sonnets sorwe Spenser stanza Stella suld sweet swete swich thair thay thee ther thing thou thought thow Timor Mortis conturbat Troylus true truth tyme unto Venus verse whan wight wolde words write wyth
Pasajes populares
Página xxvii - What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome?
Página 454 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
Página 462 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Página xvii - The future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay. There is not a creed which is not shaken, not an accredited dogma which is not shown to be questionable, not a received tradition which does not threaten to dissolve.
Página 465 - Under the greenwood tree * Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.* JAQ.
Página 494 - Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust ; Who, in the dark and silent 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 ! ELIZABETHAN MISCELLANIES.
Página 351 - 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?
Página 490 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten: In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
Página 295 - Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag, That lasie seemd, in being ever last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast, And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast, That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain ; And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.
Página 427 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?