The children's garland from the best poets, selected by C. Patmore, Edição 627Coventry Kersey D. Patmore 1873 |
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Página 9
... Hath fortune hither brought ? She , seeing mine eyes still on her were , Soon , smilingly , quoth she , Sirrah , look to your rudder there , Why look'st thou thus at me ? And nimbly stepp'd into my boat With her a little Garland 9.
... Hath fortune hither brought ? She , seeing mine eyes still on her were , Soon , smilingly , quoth she , Sirrah , look to your rudder there , Why look'st thou thus at me ? And nimbly stepp'd into my boat With her a little Garland 9.
Página 19
... soon partake his grave . W. Cowper XIV ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL 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 ...
... soon partake his grave . W. Cowper XIV ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL 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 ...
Página 24
... died away . On the deck the Rover takes his stand , So dark it is they see no land . Quoth Sir Ralph , ' It will be lighter soon , For there is the dawn of the rising moon . ' ' Can'st hear , ' said one , ' the 24 The Children's.
... died away . On the deck the Rover takes his stand , So dark it is they see no land . Quoth Sir Ralph , ' It will be lighter soon , For there is the dawn of the rising moon . ' ' Can'st hear , ' said one , ' the 24 The Children's.
Página 26
... soon , For I'm weary with hunting , and fain would lie down . ' ' Where got ye your dinner , Lord Randal , my son ? Where got ye your dinner , my handsome young man ? ' ' I dined with my love ; mother , make my bed soon , For I'm weary ...
... soon , For I'm weary with hunting , and fain would lie down . ' ' Where got ye your dinner , Lord Randal , my son ? Where got ye your dinner , my handsome young man ? ' ' I dined with my love ; mother , make my bed soon , For I'm weary ...
Página 27
... soon , For I'm weary with hunting , and fain would lie down . ' ' O , I fear ye are poison'd , Lord Randal , my son ! O , I fear ye are poison'd , my handsome young man ! ' ' O , yes , I am poison'd ! mother , make my bed soon , For I'm ...
... soon , For I'm weary with hunting , and fain would lie down . ' ' O , I fear ye are poison'd , Lord Randal , my son ! O , I fear ye are poison'd , my handsome young man ! ' ' O , yes , I am poison'd ! mother , make my bed soon , For I'm ...
Outras edições - Ver tudo
The Children's Garland from the Best Poets. Selected and Arranged by ... Coventry Patmore Visualização integral - 1873 |
The Children's Garland from the Best Poets: Selected and Arranged by ... Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore Visualização integral - 1879 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
a-begging Abbot Binnorie bird bishop bishop of Hereford blow bower brave bright cheer child cold cried Crocodile dark daughter dead dear door Dora doth eyes fair fair lady fast father fear flowers gallant gallant story Gilpin gold green grew hand Hark hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill horse Inchcape Rock John John Barleycorn king lady land light Little John Little white Lily live Lochinvar look look'd Lord Lord Randal loud maid merry moon morning ne'er never Nevermore night o'er Old Ballad old courtier poison'd poor pray quoth Robin Hood rode round S. T. Coleridge shepherd sing smile song soon soul steed stood storm stream sweet Sweet William's Ghost tell thee thou thought took trees Twas unto wild Wildgrave wind wings Witch word young
Passagens conhecidas
Página 159 - TIGER! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?
Página 4 - I COME from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
Página 67 - O sweeter than the marriage-feast, Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!— To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
Página 191 - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and. curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Página 328 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances uplifted, the trumpet unblown.
Página 194 - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.
Página 61 - And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; "We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. "Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.
Página 80 - The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.
Página 57 - It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.
Página 22 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...