What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
The Leading English Poets from Chaucer to Browning: Edited, with ...
Lucius Hudson Holt
No preview available - 2017
Archimago arms art thou beauty beneath blood breast breath bright brow Camelot cloud courser dark dead dear death deep doth dread dream earth Elfin knight eyes face fair fear fire flowers Gareth Gawain gaze gentle glory Gorlois grace grone hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill holy hope hour King King Arthur lady Lady of Shalott Lancelot Lavaine leave light live look lord maid mighty mind mordre morning never night nymph o'er once Oxus pain pass Publ Queen rest rose round Samian wine sing Sir Lancelot sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spake spirit star stept stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro trew unto voice wave ween wild wind wings words wyde youth
Page 118 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Page 333 - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Page 580 - 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, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Page 567 - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Page 534 - It struggles and howls at fits; Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream...
Page 306 - My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes.
Page 774 - The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace, — all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech.
Page 118 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Page 745 - And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur...
Page 134 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days ; But, the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.