The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: With an Introductory Essay Upon His Philosophical and Theological Opinions, Band 4

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Harper & brothers, 1858
 

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Seite 118 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea...
Seite 159 - My words fly up, my thoughts remain below : Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
Seite 130 - HUNG be the heavens with black , yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have consented unto Henry's death ! Henry the fifth, too famous to live long ! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
Seite 169 - Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!
Seite 167 - If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir.
Seite 125 - No matter where. Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Seite 80 - At her feet he bowed he fell, he lay down at her feet he bowed, he fell where he bowed, there he fell down dead...
Seite 361 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his newborn blisses, A six years
Seite 112 - For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night, Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night: come, loving, black-brow'd night Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Seite 162 - I do not think so ; since he went into France, I have been in continual practice ; I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart ; but it is no matter.

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