Beauties of English LandscapeGeorge Routledge and Sons, 1874 - Počet stran: 301 |
Vyhledávání v knize
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Strana xii
... silent owls 115 The gleaners spread around , and here and there , Spike after spike , their sparing harvest pick . 117 Which made me look a thousand ways In bush , and tree , and sky .. There , rapt in gratitude , in joy , and love ...
... silent owls 115 The gleaners spread around , and here and there , Spike after spike , their sparing harvest pick . 117 Which made me look a thousand ways In bush , and tree , and sky .. There , rapt in gratitude , in joy , and love ...
Strana 23
... True dignity abides with him alone Who , in the silent hour of inward thought , Can still suspect , and still revere himself , In lowliness of heart . WORDSWORTH . Now , with religious awe , the farewell light Blends. 23.
... True dignity abides with him alone Who , in the silent hour of inward thought , Can still suspect , and still revere himself , In lowliness of heart . WORDSWORTH . Now , with religious awe , the farewell light Blends. 23.
Strana 44
... silence broke , The crystal icicle is hung ; Where , from their frozen urns , mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide , Shrilly the skater's iron rings , And voices fill the woodland side . Alas ! how changed from the fair scene ...
... silence broke , The crystal icicle is hung ; Where , from their frozen urns , mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide , Shrilly the skater's iron rings , And voices fill the woodland side . Alas ! how changed from the fair scene ...
Strana 48
... Silence and Foresight - Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow - there to celebrate , As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone , United worship ; or in mute repose To lie , and listen to the mountain ...
... Silence and Foresight - Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow - there to celebrate , As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone , United worship ; or in mute repose To lie , and listen to the mountain ...
Strana 50
... silent waves , to hear the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore ; Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads , To willowy hedge rows , and to emerald meads s ; Leads to her bridge , rude church , and cottaged grounds ...
... silent waves , to hear the roar That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore ; Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads , To willowy hedge rows , and to emerald meads s ; Leads to her bridge , rude church , and cottaged grounds ...
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Další vydání - Zobrazit všechny
Beauties of English Landscape (Classic Reprint) Myles Birket Foster Náhled není k dispozici. - 2015 |
Běžně se vyskytující výrazy a sousloví
Astòr beam beauty behold beneath birds blessed bloom blue bosom boughs bower breathe bright brook BROTHERS calm Canst thou forget cliffs clouds Coloured cottage DALZIEL BROTHERS dark dear deep delight doth dream earth EDMUND EVANS ELIZA COOK fair fear flowers gentle gilt edges gleam glide gloom Grasmere grave green greenwood tree grove hand happy harebells hath heard heart heaven Helpmate HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour hung lassie light live lofty lonely look Maire bhan Astor merry morning mossy mountain murmur night o'er pleasure rills rocks round rove scene shade shepherd shines shore side sight silence sing skies sleep smile snow soft solitude song sorrow soul spread Spring steep stone stood stream summer tears thine thou art thoughts trees vale village voice wandering waters waves wild winds winter woods WORDSWORTH Yarrow youth
Oblíbené pasáže
Strana 14 - LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
Strana 50 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.
Strana 236 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised...
Strana 200 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Strana 56 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Strana 56 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Strana 30 - Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Strana 232 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard, Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Strana 222 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Strana 122 - NUNS fret not at their Convent's narrow room ; And Hermits are contented with their Cells ; And Students with their pensive Citadels : Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Pea.k of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells : In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is...