Select Poems of Coleridge, Wordsworth, Campbell LongfellowW.J. Gage, 1895 - 360 pages |
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Page xviii
... lips , and not very good teeth , longish , loose- growing half - curling rough black hair . But if you hear him speak for five minutes , you think no more of them . His eye is large and full , and not very xviii INTRODUCTIONS .
... lips , and not very good teeth , longish , loose- growing half - curling rough black hair . But if you hear him speak for five minutes , you think no more of them . His eye is large and full , and not very xviii INTRODUCTIONS .
Page 6
... speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky , The bloody sun , at noon , Right up above the mast did stand , No bigger than the moon . 110 Day after day , day after day , 115 We stuck , nor breath nor motion ...
... speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky , The bloody sun , at noon , Right up above the mast did stand , No bigger than the moon . 110 Day after day , day after day , 115 We stuck , nor breath nor motion ...
Page 7
... speak , no more than if We had been choked with soot . Ah ! well a - day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross , the albatross About my neck was hung . The ship- mates , in their sore distress , 140 would ...
... speak , no more than if We had been choked with soot . Ah ! well a - day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross , the albatross About my neck was hung . The ship- mates , in their sore distress , 140 would ...
Page 9
... speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky , The bloody sun , at noon , Right up above the mast did stand , No bigger than the moon . Day after day , day after day , 110 We stuck , nor breath nor motion ...
... speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky , The bloody sun , at noon , Right up above the mast did stand , No bigger than the moon . Day after day , day after day , 110 We stuck , nor breath nor motion ...
Page 9
... speak , no more than if We had been choked with soot . Ah ! well a - day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross , the albatross About my neck was hung . The ship- mates , in their sore distress , 140 would ...
... speak , no more than if We had been choked with soot . Ah ! well a - day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross , the albatross About my neck was hung . The ship- mates , in their sore distress , 140 would ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadians albatross Alfoxden ancient Mariner archaic archaism art thou Basil beauty bird black lips breath breeze bright Campbell Cape Horn church Coleridge Composition and publication dark dead death deep edition England English Evangeline eyes fair flowers forest French Gabriel gleam glittering Grand-Pré Grasmere hand hath heard heart heaven hermit King's College Chapel land light lips living Longfellow look loud Lyrical Ballads maiden meadows mist and snow moon morning Nether Stowey night Nova Scotia o'er ocean passed Patrick Spence Percy's Reliques poem poet poet's poetic poetry river rose round sails shadow Shakspere Shelvocke shining ship shore silent sing sleep song sonnet sorrow soul sound spake spirit stanza stars stood storm sweet tale Tennyson thee things thought tion trees village voice water-sprite wave wedding-guest William Wordsworth winds do blow words Wordsworth youth
Popular passages
Page 9 - 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 9 - 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 xxxvi - 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 163 - 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 xxi - 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 160 - 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 163 - 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 xix - 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.