Leigh Hunt as Poet and Essayist: Being the Choicest Passages from His Works Selected and EdF. Warne and Company, 1889 - 528 páginas |
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Outras edições - Ver tudo
Leigh Hunt as Poet and Essayist: Being the Choicest Passages from His Works ... Leigh Hunt Visualização integral - 1889 |
Leigh Hunt as Poet and Essayist: Being the Choicest Passages from His Works ... Leigh Hunt Visualização integral - 1889 |
Leigh Hunt as Poet and Essayist: Being the Choicest Passages from His Works ... Leigh Hunt Visualização integral - 1889 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
admiration agreeable Anacreon Andrew Marvell appeared beauty Ben Jonson better breath called Charles Lamb Chaucer cheek Christ's Hospital colours comes Dæmon dance delight dream Dryden earth eyes face fancy favourite feel fire fireside flowers genius gentle gentleman George Selwyn give grace green hand happy head heart heaven human Hunt's imagination Johnson kind king lady laugh legs Leigh Hunt light lived London Journal look Lord Lord Byron lover Madame de Sévigné melancholy mind morning nature never night o'er once one's Ovid pain perhaps person Petrarch Phorbas pleasant pleasure poem poet poetical poetry poor Pope Queen reader Robin Gray round seems sense Shakspeare sleep smile sort soul speak Spenser spirit stick Street sweet Tatler tears thee Theocritus thing thou thought turn verses walk window word write young
Passagens conhecidas
Página 88 - Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Página 149 - Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Página 70 - ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Página 112 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war; Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Página 104 - Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains ; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.
Página 190 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Página 52 - JENNY kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me.
Página 142 - And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses: sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain. Into this prince, gently, oh gently slide; And kiss him into slumbers, like a bride.
Página 112 - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare...
Página 378 - ... inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more blest than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.