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Lectures on English Poetry: To the Time of Milton (Classic Reprint)
Pré-visualização indisponível - 2015
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Página 38 - Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did...
Página 71 - The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again, The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair. The sea itself, which one would think Should have but little need of drink, Drinks ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they oerflow the cup. The busy sun (and one would guess By...
Página 99 - Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount, Westward, much nearer by south-west; behold Where on the ^Egean shore a city stands, Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil, Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades.
Página 101 - Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree? The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon. When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Página 77 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Página 39 - They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those. Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play : XCIX.
Página 103 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our Fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Página 77 - Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay, Like mothers which their infants overlay. Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoil The mower's hopes...
Página 101 - The Sun to me is dark And silent as the Moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the Soul, She all in every part; why was the sight To such a tender ball as the eye confined?