PoemsF.E. Bingley, 1833 - 157 pages |
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... Wish The Sabbath - Day's Child 88 89 May , 1832 .... .... Isabel Reply Fragment .... Το ... 92 93 .... .... ... 95 .... 97 98 Expertus Loquitur A Farewell .... Horace . Book I. , Ode 38 99 .... 100 101 Death .... .... 102 Inania Munera ...
... Wish The Sabbath - Day's Child 88 89 May , 1832 .... .... Isabel Reply Fragment .... Το ... 92 93 .... .... ... 95 .... 97 98 Expertus Loquitur A Farewell .... Horace . Book I. , Ode 38 99 .... 100 101 Death .... .... 102 Inania Munera ...
Page 22
... wish , a thought , Unravel all the complex web of age , — Could all the characters that Time hath wrought Be clean effaced from my memorial page By one short word , the word I would not say , I thank my God , because my hairs are grey ...
... wish , a thought , Unravel all the complex web of age , — Could all the characters that Time hath wrought Be clean effaced from my memorial page By one short word , the word I would not say , I thank my God , because my hairs are grey ...
Page 27
... their influence on this passive ball , Abides a power that can my soul absolve ? Could any sin survive , and be forgiven- One sinful wish would make a hell of heaven . SONNET XXVIII . TO SHAKSPEARE . THE Soul of man 27 25-26.
... their influence on this passive ball , Abides a power that can my soul absolve ? Could any sin survive , and be forgiven- One sinful wish would make a hell of heaven . SONNET XXVIII . TO SHAKSPEARE . THE Soul of man 27 25-26.
Page 29
... , — But taking all , it yet hath left me friends , For whom I needs must mourn the wayward spite That hides my purpose in an empty purse , Since what I grateful wish , in wishing ends . SONNET XXX . WHAT can a poor man do but 29.
... , — But taking all , it yet hath left me friends , For whom I needs must mourn the wayward spite That hides my purpose in an empty purse , Since what I grateful wish , in wishing ends . SONNET XXX . WHAT can a poor man do but 29.
Page 31
... wish be born with every morrow , And fondest dreams full oft are types of sorrow , Eyes that can smile may weep just when they please . But adult Passion , centred far within , Hid from the moment's venom and its balm , Works with the ...
... wish be born with every morrow , And fondest dreams full oft are types of sorrow , Eyes that can smile may weep just when they please . But adult Passion , centred far within , Hid from the moment's venom and its balm , Works with the ...
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Common terms and phrases
babe beauty beneath birds blessing bliss breeze bright calm child dark day-dawn despair doom'd dream e'en e'er earth eyes fain fair faith fancies fate father fear feel flower gentle gleams grey grief happy HARTLEY COLERIDGE hath heard heart heaven holy hope hope and fear human Leonard light live lonely maid merry mind mirth mortal mother Mother's smile mourn murmur nature Nature's Nautilus ne'er never New-Year's New-Year's day night nought o'er pain passion peace Poet poor pride pure quit-rent rill S. T. COLERIDGE scorn Shakspeare shew shining sigh silent sing sire sleep soft song SONNET Sonnet 19 Sonnet 20 sooth sorrow soul spirit Susan sweet thee thine thou art thought Trophonius truth twas unrifled vale of Tempe verse virgin voice wave ween weep Whate'er wild wind worldly young Passion youth
Popular passages
Page 149 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 149 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the child among his new-born blisses A sIx years
Page 147 - On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, When the clear, cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In the wave beneath him shining! Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over, Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long-faded glories they cover!
Page 145 - mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in Himself.
Page 146 - Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie : His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Page 3 - Brightened the tresses that old Poets praise; Where Petrarch's patient love, and artful lays, And Ariosto's song of many themes, Moved the soft air. But I, a lazy brook, As close pent up within my native dell, Have crept along from nook to shady nook, Where flowrets blow, and whispering Naiads dwell Yet now we meet, that parted were so wide, O'er rough and smooth to travel side by side.
Page 1 - That, wisely doating, ask'd not why it doated, And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills. But now I find, how dear thou wert to me; That man is more than half of nature's treasure. Of that fair Beauty which no eye can see, Of that sweet music which no ear can measure; And now the streams may sing for others' pleasure, The hills sleep on in their eternity.
Page 60 - She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be, Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me ; Oh ! then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply, And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye : Her very frowns are fairer far, Than smiles of other maidens are.
Page 148 - Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, We wawl, and cry: — I will preach to thee; mark me. Glo. Alack, alack the day ! Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools...
Page 9 - LONG time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I ; For yet I lived like one not born to die ; A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears, No hope I needed, and I knew no fears. But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking, I waked to sleep no more, at once o'ertaking The vanguard of my age, with all arrears Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man...