A Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry |
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Page 32
... brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar , now , See where the victor victim bleeds ! All heads must come To the cold tomb , Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust . VICTORIOUS ...
... brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar , now , See where the victor victim bleeds ! All heads must come To the cold tomb , Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust . VICTORIOUS ...
Page 34
... brow , And then the dimple of his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win . At last he set her both his eyes , She won , and Cupid blind did rise . O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall , alas ! become of me ? [ WILLIAM ...
... brow , And then the dimple of his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win . At last he set her both his eyes , She won , and Cupid blind did rise . O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall , alas ! become of me ? [ WILLIAM ...
Page 46
... brow . Then a Soldier ; Full of strange oaths , and bearded like the pard , Jealous in honour , sudden and quick in quarrel , Seeking the bubble reputation Turning again toward childish treble , pipes And whistles in his sound . Last ...
... brow . Then a Soldier ; Full of strange oaths , and bearded like the pard , Jealous in honour , sudden and quick in quarrel , Seeking the bubble reputation Turning again toward childish treble , pipes And whistles in his sound . Last ...
Page 48
... brow Will bless it , and approve it with a text , Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? There is no vice so simple , but assumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts . How many cowards , whose hearts are all as false As stairs ...
... brow Will bless it , and approve it with a text , Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? There is no vice so simple , but assumes Some mark of virtue on its outward parts . How many cowards , whose hearts are all as false As stairs ...
Page 51
... brow ; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes , To wound thy lord , thy king , thy gover- nor : It blots thy beauty , as frost bites the meads : Confounds thy fame , as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; And in no sense is meet , or ...
... brow ; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes , To wound thy lord , thy king , thy gover- nor : It blots thy beauty , as frost bites the meads : Confounds thy fame , as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; And in no sense is meet , or ...
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Common terms and phrases
ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
Popular passages
Page 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Page 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Page 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 273 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Page 103 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 274 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Page 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Page 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.