Gems of Thought, and Flowers of FancyRichard Wright Procter Partridge, 1855 - 428 Seiten |
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Seite 15
... sound , It greets me not with glad and laughing tone : --- Ah ! how is this ? -I call and search around , Save mine own echo all is still and lone ; Nor voice nor form - perchance my senses dream-- I hear what is not , yet I waking seem ...
... sound , It greets me not with glad and laughing tone : --- Ah ! how is this ? -I call and search around , Save mine own echo all is still and lone ; Nor voice nor form - perchance my senses dream-- I hear what is not , yet I waking seem ...
Seite 43
... sounds of Freedom rings , Whene'er the lark his carol sings , Whene'er the bee bestirs his wings ; From tiny bird And joyful twittering insect things That sound is heard . ' Tis first of Nature's wise decrees , It floats upon the ...
... sounds of Freedom rings , Whene'er the lark his carol sings , Whene'er the bee bestirs his wings ; From tiny bird And joyful twittering insect things That sound is heard . ' Tis first of Nature's wise decrees , It floats upon the ...
Seite 49
... sound ? - Flashes not gladly thy thankful eye ? Hath not hope chidden the starting sigh ? Throbs not thy pulse with an eager joy , — Impatient yearnings to clasp thy boy ? " We come , we come ; through the beaded foam Our vessel cutteth ...
... sound ? - Flashes not gladly thy thankful eye ? Hath not hope chidden the starting sigh ? Throbs not thy pulse with an eager joy , — Impatient yearnings to clasp thy boy ? " We come , we come ; through the beaded foam Our vessel cutteth ...
Seite 66
... sounds are in my ear My early childhood loved to hear ; As pure thy limpid waters run , As bright they sparkle to the sun ; As fresh and thick the bending ranks Of herbs that line thy oozy banks ; The violet there , in soft May dew ...
... sounds are in my ear My early childhood loved to hear ; As pure thy limpid waters run , As bright they sparkle to the sun ; As fresh and thick the bending ranks Of herbs that line thy oozy banks ; The violet there , in soft May dew ...
Seite 76
... sound affrights mine ear ; My pulse , my brain runs wild , -- I rave ; - Ah , who art thou whose voice I hear ? - " I am THE GRAVE ! " The GRAVE , that never spake before , Hath found a tongue to chide at length : O listen ! -- I will ...
... sound affrights mine ear ; My pulse , my brain runs wild , -- I rave ; - Ah , who art thou whose voice I hear ? - " I am THE GRAVE ! " The GRAVE , that never spake before , Hath found a tongue to chide at length : O listen ! -- I will ...
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Gems of Thought, and Flowers of Fancy (Classic Reprint) Richard Wright Procter Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2018 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
beautiful beneath bird bless bloom blue BORN bosom bower breast breath bright brow calm chamber door cheek cheer child clouds cold dark dead dear death deep DIED dreams e'en earth EBENEZER ELLIOTT EMILY BRONTE eyes fair fled flowers fond gaze gentle glide glory grave green Grongar Hill hast hath heard heart heaven hills hope JOHN SCHOLES JOSEPH AUGUSTINE WADE life's light live lonely look'd lyre maiden Malhamdale morning mortal mother MUSE Nature's ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd PHILIP JAMES BAILEY POEMS press'd Quoth the Raven Raven ROBERT TANNAHILL rose tree round seem'd shine sigh silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars stream sunshine sweet tears tell thee thine thing THOMAS GASPEY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY thou thought toil twas vale voice wandering wave weep wild WILLIAM PAYNTER wind wing young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 113 - The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long ! She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love and virgin shame ; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside, As conscious of my look she stept — Then suddenly, with timorous eye She fled to me and wept.
Seite 230 - Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
Seite 362 - ABOU BEN ADHEM — may his tribe increase — Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold And to the presence in the room he said: 'What writest thou?' The vision raised its head, And with a look made all of sweet accord, Answered: 'The names of those who love the Lord.
Seite 96 - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never— nevermore.
Seite 366 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Seite 96 - But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking, "Nevermore.
Seite 93 - Only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.
Seite 5 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an Eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist...
Seite 193 - But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be.
Seite 388 - In a drear-nighted December Too happy, happy Tree Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity : The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime.