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3-beat rhythm accent alliteration artist balance ballad beats beauty become blank verse Break Browning cadence called century chap clear couplet direct drama early effects element Elizabethan ending English epic example expression eyes fall feeling feminine genius give Greek hand hear heart heroic impression Italy language less light lines literature living Lost lyric means measure medium melody metre metric mind motion move movement nature never night once pass pause perfect periods PIP PIP PIP PIPPI play Ple Ple Ple poem poetry poets pure rhyme rhythm rhythmic says seems sense Shakespeare short song sonnet soul sound spirit stand stanza style sweet syllables Tennyson things third thou thought tion tonal tone triple true voice vowel whole wind
Seite 165 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Seite 127 - ONCE UPON A MIDNIGHT dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door; Only this, and nothing more.
Seite 89 - I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ;
Seite 124 - With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glowworm's eyes...
Seite 153 - Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open ye, (So priketh hem nature in hir corages), Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...
Seite 127 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Seite 147 - With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail ! a sail...
Seite 161 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep — He hath awakened from the dream of life — 'Tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.
Seite 149 - Ho! maidens of Vienna; Ho! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.
Seite 252 - As when far off at sea a fleet descried Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants- bring Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seemed Far off the flying Fiend.