The Rhyme and Reason of Country Life, Or, Selections from Fields Old and New |
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Page 51
... thou art so unconning , How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede ? It is wonder that thou wexest not rede ! Sith that thou wost full lite who shall behold Thy rude langage , full boistously unfold . GEOFFREY CHAUCER , 1328-1399 ...
... thou art so unconning , How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede ? It is wonder that thou wexest not rede ! Sith that thou wost full lite who shall behold Thy rude langage , full boistously unfold . GEOFFREY CHAUCER , 1328-1399 ...
Page 65
... Thou art the same which still thou wert before , Delicious , lusty , amiable , fair ; But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air Is gone ; nor gold , nor gems , can her restore . Neglected virtues , seasons go and come , When thine ...
... Thou art the same which still thou wert before , Delicious , lusty , amiable , fair ; But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air Is gone ; nor gold , nor gems , can her restore . Neglected virtues , seasons go and come , When thine ...
Page 76
... Thou , who alone art fair , And whom alone I love , art far away : Unless thy smile be there , It makes me sad to see the earth so gay : I care not if the train Of leaves , and flowers , and zephyrs go again ! Translation of W. C. ...
... Thou , who alone art fair , And whom alone I love , art far away : Unless thy smile be there , It makes me sad to see the earth so gay : I care not if the train Of leaves , and flowers , and zephyrs go again ! Translation of W. C. ...
Page 97
... thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad , In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing , and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod . Thou wast not born for death , immortal bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ...
... thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad , In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing , and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod . Thou wast not born for death , immortal bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ...
Page 98
... Thou art all song - thy breast Thrills for one month o ' th ' year — is tranquil all the rest . Thee wondrous we may call- Most wondrous this of all , That such a tiny throat Should wake so loud a sound , and pour so loud a note . MARIA ...
... Thou art all song - thy breast Thrills for one month o ' th ' year — is tranquil all the rest . Thee wondrous we may call- Most wondrous this of all , That such a tiny throat Should wake so loud a sound , and pour so loud a note . MARIA ...
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Common terms and phrases
Æneid ALFRED TENNYSON beauty beneath birds Bishop of Dunkeld bloom blossoms boughs bowers breath bright brow buds charms Chaucer cheerful cloud cuckoo dance dark delight doth earth fair Fairlop field flocks flowers forest fresh gale garden gay too soon GILES FLETCHER grass green Grongar Hill grove happy hath heart heaven hill hour hues lady lark leaf leaves light live look Lord meadows mede merry MINNESINGERS morning mountain murmuring nature never night nightingale nymph o'er Phineas Fletcher plain pleasant pleasure poet purple rill ROBERT HERRICK rose round shade sight silent sing sleep smile soft song soon the flowers soul spide spring will fade stream summer sweet tell thee thine things THOMAS CAREW Thou art thought thrushes Translation tree unto vale vernal violet voice wandering wave wild WILLIAM GILPIN wind wings winter woods youth
Popular passages
Page 386 - Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud...
Page 85 - What thou art we know not: what is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see, as from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Page 76 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Page 86 - We look before and after And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Page 39 - Where some, like magistrates correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in. their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor...
Page 154 - GOD ALMIGHTY first planted a Garden. And indeed it is the purest of human pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man; without which buildings and palaces are but gross...
Page 85 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Page 190 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.
Page 76 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Page 77 - Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.