Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Volume 11853 |
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Page 11
... tell us spring is born ; Others , their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing , Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn . Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing , And in Summer's green emblazon'd field , But in arms of brave old Autumn's ...
... tell us spring is born ; Others , their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing , Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn . Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing , And in Summer's green emblazon'd field , But in arms of brave old Autumn's ...
Page 14
... tell To those who cannot question well The spirit that inhabits it : It talks according to the wit Of its companions , and no more Is heard than has been felt before , By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day . But ...
... tell To those who cannot question well The spirit that inhabits it : It talks according to the wit Of its companions , and no more Is heard than has been felt before , By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day . But ...
Page 17
... tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears , That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish years . I cannot say how this may be , I know his face is fair , And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious ...
... tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears , That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish years . I cannot say how this may be , I know his face is fair , And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious ...
Page 18
... we shall lose in him . I have a son , a third sweet son ; his age I cannot tell , For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell . To us , for fourteen anxious months , his infant 18 BEAUTIFUL POETRY .
... we shall lose in him . I have a son , a third sweet son ; his age I cannot tell , For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell . To us , for fourteen anxious months , his infant 18 BEAUTIFUL POETRY .
Page 19
... tell what form is his , what look he weareth now , Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow : The thoughts that fill his sinless soul , the bliss which he doth feel , Are number'd with the secret things which God will ...
... tell what form is his , what look he weareth now , Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow : The thoughts that fill his sinless soul , the bliss which he doth feel , Are number'd with the secret things which God will ...
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Common terms and phrases
Advertisements Advowsons BARRY CORNWALL BEAUTIFUL POETRY beneath bird Blackwood's Magazine blue bower breast breath bright brow calm cheek child CHRISTINA G clouds cold dark dead death deep doth dream earth EBENEZER ELLIOTT Ecclesiastical English language Essex-street eyes fair flowers French Literature gaze gentle golden grave green hast hath heart heaven HERO AND LEANDER hill hour JOHN CROCKFORD land light lips live lonely look look'd moon morn mountain N. P. WILLIS night o'er P. J. BAILEY pale pass'd poem poet postage stamps prayer price 3d rose round Samian wine seem'd shade shadow shine sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stamped stars Strand stream summer sweet tears thee thine things thou art thoughts trees vex'd voice wake waves weep wild wind wings woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 76 - Of aspect more sublime : that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world. Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood. In which the affections gently lead us on, Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul...
Page 190 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 52 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Page 367 - 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...
Page 5 - All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Page 4 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 364 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Page 240 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star...
Page 53 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
Page 297 - Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.