The Standard poetry book, selected from the best authors |
From inside the book
Page 230
... add to these retired Leisure , That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; But first and chiefest with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing , Guiding the fiery - wheeled throne , The cherub Contemplation : And the mute Silence ...
... add to these retired Leisure , That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; But first and chiefest with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing , Guiding the fiery - wheeled throne , The cherub Contemplation : And the mute Silence ...
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The Standard Poetry Book, Selected from the Best Authors Standard Poetry Book No preview available - 2015 |
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angel battle beauty beneath blood bosom breast breath bright brow Brutus child clouds cold cried dark dead dear death deep doth dreams ears earth eyes face fair fall father fear field fire flowers gentle give grace grave green grief hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill holy hope hour king land leaves light live looks meet mind morn mother mountain Nature never night o'er once pass pleasure poor pray prayer pride rest rise rock round shade side sight sleep smile snow song sorrow soul sound spirit springs stars stream sweet tears tell thee things thou thought thousand tree turn Twas voice wave wild wind wings woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 199 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Page 161 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Page 117 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the...
Page 141 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Page 198 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Page 91 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 158 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Page 116 - There was a sound of revelry by night. And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again ; And all went merry as a marriage-bell, But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.
Page 63 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 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 unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Page 216 - Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower— Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound— And maidens call it, love-in-idleness.
Bibliographic information
| Title | The Standard poetry book, selected from the best authors |
| Author | Standard poetry book |
| Published | 1866 |
| Original from | Oxford University |
| Digitized | Aug 7, 2006 |
| Length | 274 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |