The Poetical Works of John KeatsW. Scott, 1885 - 310 Seiten |
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Seite 11
... rest where it may , there is some- thing more than Spenserian echoes here . The very first poem has some passages of singular freshness . What an excellently conceived description of the birth of Sound we have , for example , in the ...
... rest where it may , there is some- thing more than Spenserian echoes here . The very first poem has some passages of singular freshness . What an excellently conceived description of the birth of Sound we have , for example , in the ...
Seite 30
... rest and strength . There is everywhere abundant evidence of a life which sees and feels that which may not be told in common terms , and of the work of a wonderfully susceptible spirit accustomed to put forth the most delicate antennæ ...
... rest and strength . There is everywhere abundant evidence of a life which sees and feels that which may not be told in common terms , and of the work of a wonderfully susceptible spirit accustomed to put forth the most delicate antennæ ...
Seite 39
... rest are quitting ; Or by the moon lifting her silver rim Above a cloud , and with a gradual swim Coming into the blue with all her light . O Maker of sweet poets , dear delight Of this fair world , and all its gentle livers ; Spangler ...
... rest are quitting ; Or by the moon lifting her silver rim Above a cloud , and with a gradual swim Coming into the blue with all her light . O Maker of sweet poets , dear delight Of this fair world , and all its gentle livers ; Spangler ...
Seite 41
... rests Full in the speculation of the stars . Ah ! surely he had burst our mortal bars ; Into some wondrous region he had gone , To search for thee , divine Endymion ! He was a Poet , sure a lover too , I STOOD TIPTOE . 41.
... rests Full in the speculation of the stars . Ah ! surely he had burst our mortal bars ; Into some wondrous region he had gone , To search for thee , divine Endymion ! He was a Poet , sure a lover too , I STOOD TIPTOE . 41.
Seite 47
... rest Till the fond , fixèd eyes forget they stare . From such fine pictures , heavens ! I cannot dare To turn my admiration , though unpossessed They be of what is worthy - though not drest In lovely modesty , and virtues rare . Yet ...
... rest Till the fond , fixèd eyes forget they stare . From such fine pictures , heavens ! I cannot dare To turn my admiration , though unpossessed They be of what is worthy - though not drest In lovely modesty , and virtues rare . Yet ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Apollo Arethusa Art thou Bacchus beauty behold bliss bosom bower breast breath bright Carian charm chidden clouds cold cool dark dead death deep delight dewy dost doth dream ears earth Elysium Endymion eyes face faint fair Fanny Brawne fear feel flowers forest gentle golden gone green grief hair hand happy heard heart heaven hour Hyperion immortal Keats kiss Lamia leaves Leigh Hunt light lips lone look lute Lycius lyre Mermaid Tavern moon morning mortal mossy Naiad never night nymph o'er pain pale passed passion pleasant poet Porphyro rill ringdove rose round Saturn Satyrs Scylla shade sigh silent silver sing sleep smile soft sorrow soul spake spirit stars stept stood strange sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought trees trembling twas voice weep whisper wild wind wings wonders young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 271 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness!* Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme...
Seite 269 - 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, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays...
Seite 271 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Seite 268 - 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 : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Seite 270 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmed darkness guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
Seite 223 - And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, — I've mickle time to grieve.
Seite 269 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Seite 61 - Made for our searching. Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils, With the green world they live in ; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season ; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms ; And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead...
Seite 229 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake ! "Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: " Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, "Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Seite 280 - Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...