The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One VolumeJohn Grigg, 1831 - 607 pages |
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Page 3
... heart has bled " ib . On observing a Blossom on the 1st of Feb- ruary , 1796 " Thou bleedest , my poor heart ! and thy distress " ib . To the Author of the " Robbers " Lines composed while climbing the left as- cent of Brockley Coomb ...
... heart has bled " ib . On observing a Blossom on the 1st of Feb- ruary , 1796 " Thou bleedest , my poor heart ! and thy distress " ib . To the Author of the " Robbers " Lines composed while climbing the left as- cent of Brockley Coomb ...
Page 15
... heart . The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever ; And they floated it down on the course of the river . They saw'd it in planks , and its bark they did strip , And with this tree and others they made a good ship . The ship it ...
... heart . The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever ; And they floated it down on the course of the river . They saw'd it in planks , and its bark they did strip , And with this tree and others they made a good ship . The ship it ...
Page 18
... heart the firmer Virtues grew , And in thy heart they wither'd ! Such chill dew Wan indolence on each young blossom shed ; And Vanity her filmy net - work spread , With eye that roll'd around , in asking gaze ,. ONCE more , sweet Stream ...
... heart the firmer Virtues grew , And in thy heart they wither'd ! Such chill dew Wan indolence on each young blossom shed ; And Vanity her filmy net - work spread , With eye that roll'd around , in asking gaze ,. ONCE more , sweet Stream ...
Page 19
... heart has thank'd thee , Bowles ! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk , beneath the West , strains , Whose sadness soothes me , like the murmuring . Of wild - bees in the sunny showers of spring ! For hence not callous to the ...
... heart has thank'd thee , Bowles ! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk , beneath the West , strains , Whose sadness soothes me , like the murmuring . Of wild - bees in the sunny showers of spring ! For hence not callous to the ...
Page 21
... heart : I drop the tear : Enchanting spot ! O were my Sara here ! LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER . O PEACE ! that on a lilied bank dost love To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree , I would , that from the pinions of thy Dove One ...
... heart : I drop the tear : Enchanting spot ! O were my Sara here ! LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER . O PEACE ! that on a lilied bank dost love To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree , I would , that from the pinions of thy Dove One ...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume Samuel Taylor Coleridge No preview available - 2012 |
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AHASUERUS ALHADRA ALVAR arms art thou BATHORY BEATRICE beneath BETHLEN blood breath bright BUTLER calm cavern CENCI child clouds COUNTESS curse CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dare dark dead dear death deep DEMOGORGON doth dream earth Egra EMERICK eyes fair faith father fear feel flowers gaze gentle GLYCINE hast hath hear heard heart Heaven hope hour human ILLO ISIDORE ISOLANI lady LASKA light lips living look look'd Lord MEPHISTOPHELES mighty moon mother mountains never night o'er OCTAVIO ORDONIO pale PANTHEA poison'd PROMETHEUS QUESTENBERG RAAB KIUPRILI Robespierre round SAROLTA SCENE seem'd SEMICHORUS shadow silent SILENUS slaves sleep smile song soul sound speak spirit stars strange stream sweet tears tempest TERESA TERTSKY thee THEKLA thine things thou art thought throne truth Twas tyrant VALDEZ voice WALLENSTEIN waves weep wild wind wings words
Popular passages
Page 458 - I bear light shades 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 1 dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 460 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then — as I am listening now.
Page 72 - But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made ; Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade.
Page 459 - I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below.
Page 75 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 459 - That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer...
Page 453 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves...
Page 453 - ODE TO THE WEST WIND O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow...
Page 460 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 459 - Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea...