Select Poems of Coleridge, Wordsworth, Campbell Longfellow |
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Page vi
A Thought Suggested by the New Year [ The River of Life ] . . . . . . Longfellow , A
Psalm of Life . . . . . . . . A Gleam of Sunshine . . . . . . . . The Day is Done . . . . . . The
Old Clock on the Stairs . . . . . . The Fire of Drift - Wood . . . . Resignation .
A Thought Suggested by the New Year [ The River of Life ] . . . . . . Longfellow , A
Psalm of Life . . . . . . . . A Gleam of Sunshine . . . . . . . . The Day is Done . . . . . . The
Old Clock on the Stairs . . . . . . The Fire of Drift - Wood . . . . Resignation .
Page xliv
A Thought Suggested by the New Year [ The River of Life ] . . . . Longfellow , A
Psalm of Life . . . . . . A Gleam of Sunshine . . . . The Day is Done . . . . The Old
Clock on the Stairs . . The Fire of Drift - Wood . . . . Resignation . . . . . . . . . The
Builders .
A Thought Suggested by the New Year [ The River of Life ] . . . . Longfellow , A
Psalm of Life . . . . . . A Gleam of Sunshine . . . . The Day is Done . . . . The Old
Clock on the Stairs . . The Fire of Drift - Wood . . . . Resignation . . . . . . . . . The
Builders .
Page xxiv
... Ecclesiastical Sketches , On the River Duddon , and Sonnets Dedicated to
Liberty . Of his other chief works , Peter Bell , written in 1798 , was not published
till 1819 ; the Excursion , composed in 1795 – 1814 , was published in 1814 ; The
...
... Ecclesiastical Sketches , On the River Duddon , and Sonnets Dedicated to
Liberty . Of his other chief works , Peter Bell , written in 1798 , was not published
till 1819 ; the Excursion , composed in 1795 – 1814 , was published in 1814 ; The
...
Page 16
The thick black cloud was cleft , and still The moon was at its side : Like waters
shot from some high crag , The lightning fell with never a jag , A river steep and
wide . 325 The bodies . of the ship ' s crew are inspired , and the ship moves on .
The thick black cloud was cleft , and still The moon was at its side : Like waters
shot from some high crag , The lightning fell with never a jag , A river steep and
wide . 325 The bodies . of the ship ' s crew are inspired , and the ship moves on .
Page 29
This breathing house not built with hands , This body that does me grievous
wrong , O ' er aery cliffs and glittering sands , How lightly then it flashed along :
Like those trim skiffs , unknown of yore , On winding lakes and rivers wide , That
ask no ...
This breathing house not built with hands , This body that does me grievous
wrong , O ' er aery cliffs and glittering sands , How lightly then it flashed along :
Like those trim skiffs , unknown of yore , On winding lakes and rivers wide , That
ask no ...
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Acadians ancient appeared archaic ballads beautiful bird body bright called church close Coleridge dark dead death deep edition England English entered Evangeline eyes face fair Father feet fire forest French give hand head heard heart heaven hope land leaves light literature living London look loud maiden Mariner moon morning moved nature never night notes o'er ocean once Page passed past Percy's Reliques poem poet poetry present returned rise river rose round sail says seemed seen shadow ship shore side silent sleep song sonnet soon soul sound speak spirit stands stanza stars stood strong suggestion sweet tale thee things thou thought tion trees turned village voice wave wind Wordsworth written youth
Popular passages
Page 7 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay...
Page xxvi - But tell me, tell me ! speak again, Thy soft response renewing — What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?" SECOND VOICE "Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast — "If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.
Page 4 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page xxxviii - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Page 165 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Page xxiii - My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank ; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light — almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost.
Page 49 - Lyrical Ballads, in which it was agreed that my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic — yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief, for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.
Page 162 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Page 165 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Page xxi - In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.