The Chilswell Book of English PoetryRobert Bridges |
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Page 24
... SWEET and low , sweet and low , Wind of the western sea , Low , low , breathe and blow , Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go , Come from the dying moon , and blow , Blow him again to me ; Blake . While my little one ...
... SWEET and low , sweet and low , Wind of the western sea , Low , low , breathe and blow , Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go , Come from the dying moon , and blow , Blow him again to me ; Blake . While my little one ...
Page 29
... sweet IX Their hearts and ears did greet , As never was by mortal finger strook , Divinely - warbled voice Answering the stringèd noise , As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The Air such pleasure loth to lose , With thousand ...
... sweet IX Their hearts and ears did greet , As never was by mortal finger strook , Divinely - warbled voice Answering the stringèd noise , As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The Air such pleasure loth to lose , With thousand ...
Page 36
... , And close her from thy ancient walls ? Thy hills and valleys felt her feet Gently upon their bosoms move : Thy Gates beheld sweet Zion's ways ; Then was a time of joy and love . 44 * And now the time returns again : Our 36.
... , And close her from thy ancient walls ? Thy hills and valleys felt her feet Gently upon their bosoms move : Thy Gates beheld sweet Zion's ways ; Then was a time of joy and love . 44 * And now the time returns again : Our 36.
Page 38
... sweet music of speech ; I start at the sound of my own . The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man , Their tameness is shocking to me . Society , Friendship , and Love ...
... sweet music of speech ; I start at the sound of my own . The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man , Their tameness is shocking to me . Society , Friendship , and Love ...
Page 40
... sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam , The seasons ' difference ; -as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind , Which ...
... sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam , The seasons ' difference ; -as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind , Which ...
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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 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 176 - Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Page 102 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war,— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
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 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.
Page 199 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks,* and wanton* wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Page 203 - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 140 With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Page 4 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Page 194 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.