Poems, Volume 1Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1854 |
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Page 22
... Adown the Tigris I was borne , By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold , High - walled gardens green and old ; True Mussulman was I and sworn , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ...
... Adown the Tigris I was borne , By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold , High - walled gardens green and old ; True Mussulman was I and sworn , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ...
Page 23
... and deep inlay Of braided blooms unmown , which crept Adown to where the waters slept . A goodly place , a goodly time , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . 23 IV . A motion from the river won Ridged the.
... and deep inlay Of braided blooms unmown , which crept Adown to where the waters slept . A goodly place , a goodly time , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . 23 IV . A motion from the river won Ridged the.
Page 50
... Adown it floated a dying swan , Which loudly did lament . It was the middle of the day . Ever the weary wind went on , And took the reed - tops as it went . Some blue peaks in the distance rose , And white against the cold - white sky ...
... Adown it floated a dying swan , Which loudly did lament . It was the middle of the day . Ever the weary wind went on , And took the reed - tops as it went . Some blue peaks in the distance rose , And white against the cold - white sky ...
Page 65
... day ; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair ; And still as I combed I would sing and say , " Who is it loves me ? who loves not me ? " I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall , Low adown , low adown , From under my starry.
... day ; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair ; And still as I combed I would sing and say , " Who is it loves me ? who loves not me ? " I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall , Low adown , low adown , From under my starry.
Page 66
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Low adown , low adown , From under my starry sea - bud crown Low adown and around , And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound , Over the throne In the midst of the ...
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson. Low adown , low adown , From under my starry sea - bud crown Low adown and around , And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound , Over the throne In the midst of the ...
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Common terms and phrases
Adeline adown beneath betwixt blazoned blessed blow breast breath brow call me early Camelot cheek cloud crown dark dawn Dear mother Ida death deep Dipt door Dora dream drew DYING SWAN Earl was fair earth Eleänore Enone evermore Excalibur eyes face faint fall floating flow flowers folds thy grave forlorn garden golden prime goose green that folds hand harken ere Haroun Alraschid hath hear heard heart Heaven hills hollow King Arthur kiss Lady Clara Vere Lady of Shalott land lean Let them rave light lips look mermen moon morn never night o'er Oriana Queen rose round sang shadow shallop silver SIMEON STYLITES sing sitting sleep slowly smile song soul sound spake star stept stood stream sweet tears thee thine things thou thought towers turret and tree Vere de Vere voice wander weary wild wind words
Popular passages
Page 71 - Camelot ; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.
Page 77 - Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right — The leaves upon her falling light — Thro...
Page 220 - What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 'I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag.
Page 226 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away.
Page 160 - Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Page 20 - Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.
Page 106 - THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm; and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Page 194 - His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack ! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door.
Page 11 - Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 20 She only said, 'The night is dreary, He cometh not,' she said; She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!
Page 37 - Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. ii The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death ; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad...