The Chilswell Book of English PoetryRobert Bridges |
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Page 51
... thought that I had died in sleep , And was a blessèd ghost . ' And soon I heard a roaring wind : It did not come anear ; But with its sound it shook the sails , That were so thin and sere . ' The upper air burst into life ! And a ...
... thought that I had died in sleep , And was a blessèd ghost . ' And soon I heard a roaring wind : It did not come anear ; But with its sound it shook the sails , That were so thin and sere . ' The upper air burst into life ! And a ...
Page 66
Robert Bridges. Until an envious wind crept by , Like an unwelcome thought , Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out . Though thou art ever fair and kind , The forests ever green , Less oft is peace in Shelley's ...
Robert Bridges. Until an envious wind crept by , Like an unwelcome thought , Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out . Though thou art ever fair and kind , The forests ever green , Less oft is peace in Shelley's ...
Page 73
... thought the thought , And curst the hand that fired the shot , When in my arms burd Helen dropt , And died to succour me ! channering ] fretting . gin ] if . byre ] cowhouse . burd ] maiden , lady . R ( ༢༢ ) O think na ye my heart was ...
... thought the thought , And curst the hand that fired the shot , When in my arms burd Helen dropt , And died to succour me ! channering ] fretting . gin ] if . byre ] cowhouse . burd ] maiden , lady . R ( ༢༢ ) O think na ye my heart was ...
Page 83
... thought to dwell , Till crash ! the cruel coulter pass'd Out thro ' thy cell . That wee bit heap o ' leaves an ' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! Now thou's turn'd out , for a ' thy trouble , But house or hald , To thole the ...
... thought to dwell , Till crash ! the cruel coulter pass'd Out thro ' thy cell . That wee bit heap o ' leaves an ' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! Now thou's turn'd out , for a ' thy trouble , But house or hald , To thole the ...
Page 88
... I've gain'd the victory ! ' We fought for twenty minutes , when the Frenchman had enough ; ' I little thought , ' said he , ' that your men were of such stuff ' ; Our captain took the Frenchman's sword , a low bow 88.
... I've gain'd the victory ! ' We fought for twenty minutes , when the Frenchman had enough ; ' I little thought , ' said he , ' that your men were of such stuff ' ; Our captain took the Frenchman's sword , a low bow 88.
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bear beauty beneath birds blow breath bright close cloud cold comes dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear fire flowers give glory gone grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hour John keep king land leaves less lies light live look Lord loud mind moon morning move Nature never night o'er once pain peace play poem rest Ring rise round Shakespeare ship shore silent sing sleep song soon soul sound spirit Spring stand stars stood stream sweet tears tell thee things thou thou art thought thousand tree true voice waters waves weary wide 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.