William Wordsworth: The Story of His Life, with Critical Remarks on His WritingsStock, 1892 - 242 Seiten |
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abode admirers Alfoxden amongst appeared bard beautiful breath bright brother Charles Lamb charming church churchyard Coleorton Coleridge composed composition Cottage critics daughter death delightful divine Dora Dorothy Dorothy Wordsworth Dove Cottage Edinburgh Review edition English entitled Excursion eyes feelings genius Grasmere grave happy Hartley Coleridge heart Henry Crabb Robinson honour Hutchinson immortal Jeffrey John Wordsworth Keswick Lake Lamb lines literary living London Lyrical Ballads Milton mind mountain Nature Nether Stowey never noble passed perhaps Peter Bell pleasure poems poet poet's nephew poetical poetry Prelude published Quillinan Quincey reader referred regard remarkable resided Rydal Mount says Scott Shakespeare Sir George Beaumont Sir Walter sister sonnets sorrow Southey spirit Stowey summer Sutherland sweet thee things thou thought tion tour truth verse volume Waggoner walked White Doe wife William Wordsworth Words worth writes written
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Seite 192 - And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Seite 222 - In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old : We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
Seite 74 - I proposed to myself in these poems was to choose incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible, in a selection of language really used by men, and, at the. same time, to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual way...
Seite 9 - The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge, As if with voluntary power instinct Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, And growing still in stature the grim shape Towered up between me and the stars, and still, For so it seemed, with purpose of its own And measured motion like a living thing, Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned, And through the silent water stole my way Back to the covert of the willow tree ; There in her mooring-place I left my bark, And through the meadows...
Seite 45 - The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
Seite 11 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Seite 118 - I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood...
Seite 86 - And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel 13 light.
Seite 60 - I travelled among unknown men In lands beyond the sea ; Nor, England, did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'T is past, that melancholy dream ; Nor will I quit thy shore A second time ; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire ; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire.
Seite 98 - A deep repentance : nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it ; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed* As 'twere a careless trifle.