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acquaintance admired affected appeared beauty become believe body called cause character circumstances common critics delight doubt England English eyes face fair feel felt gave genius give given greater hand hear heart hope human Hunt Italian Italy kind knew known lady least less letters Liberal light lived look Lord Byron manner matter mean mention mind Moore nature never night noble object occasion once opinion passage perhaps person pleasure poem poet poetry politics present published question reader reason regard remarkable respect seemed seen sense sent Shelley Shelley's side sort speak spirit supposed sure taken talk tell thing thought tion told took true truth turn whole wish write written young
Page 435 - Ode to a Nightingale 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: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Page 446 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Page 437 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath...
Page 437 - Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Page 434 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Page 428 - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device...
Page 340 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Page 364 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Page 419 - Knowing within myself (he says) the manner in which this Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that I make it public.— What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished.'— Preface, p.