The Chilswell Book of English Poetry |
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Page 17
... hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing . Slowly and sadly we laid him down , From the field of his fame fresh and gory : We carved not a line , we raised not a stone , But we left ...
... hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing . Slowly and sadly we laid him down , From the field of his fame fresh and gory : We carved not a line , we raised not a stone , But we left ...
Page 25
... , thousand of years , If all were told : Give to these children , new from the world , Silence and love ; And the long dew - dropping hours of the night , And the stars above : 38 * Give to these children , new from the 25.
... , thousand of years , If all were told : Give to these children , new from the world , Silence and love ; And the long dew - dropping hours of the night , And the stars above : 38 * Give to these children , new from the 25.
Page 60
... hour , That agony returns : And till my ghastly tale is told , This heart within me burns . ' I pass , like night , from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see , I know the man that must hear me ...
... hour , That agony returns : And till my ghastly tale is told , This heart within me burns . ' I pass , like night , from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see , I know the man that must hear me ...
Page 63
... lightest wind was in its nest , The tempest in its home . Shelley . The whispering waves were half asleep , The clouds were gone to play , And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay ; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from ...
... lightest wind was in its nest , The tempest in its home . Shelley . The whispering waves were half asleep , The clouds were gone to play , And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay ; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from ...
Page 64
It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies , Which scatter'd from above the sun A light of Paradise . II We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste , Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents ...
It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies , Which scatter'd from above the sun A light of Paradise . II We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste , Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents ...
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Common terms and phrases
A. E. Housman auld auld lang syne beauty beneath birds blow breath bright Burns calm Cassius cloud cold dark dead dear death deep delight doth dread dream earth echoing Green eyes fair Farewell flowers glory grave green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry Newbolt hill John Anderson king Kirconnell land Laurence Binyon leaves light live lonely Lord loud Lycidas maun Milton mirth mist moon morning never night o'er pain pale peace Plymouth Hoe poem Quinquereme rest Ring round seem'd Shakespeare Shelley ship shore silent sing sleep song sorrow soul sound spirit Spring stanza stars stood stream sweet syne tears thee thine things thou art thought tree True Thomas Twas voice W. B. Yeats W. H. Davies waves weary wild wind wings woods youth
Popular passages
Page 175 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee!
Page 163 - Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
Page 16 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 175 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Page 174 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, > Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Page 162 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? What men or gods are these?
Page 205 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well...
Page 85 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 18 - O Captain! My Captain! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
Page 26 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.