A Poetry Book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics, Selected and Arranged, with Notes, from the Works of the Modern English and American Poets, Dating from the Middle of the Eighteenth Century to the Present Time |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 10
Page viii
... verses by Macaulay , Southey , the late Canon Kingsley , and G. Macdonald Esq . , while Mrs. Clough has granted the use of two poems from the pen of the late Arthur Hugh Clough . The fine poem entitled " In the Storm " by the late Mrs ...
... verses by Macaulay , Southey , the late Canon Kingsley , and G. Macdonald Esq . , while Mrs. Clough has granted the use of two poems from the pen of the late Arthur Hugh Clough . The fine poem entitled " In the Storm " by the late Mrs ...
Page 85
... verse , Scatter , as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks , my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind , If Winter comes , can Spring be far behind ? P. B. Shelley . ODE ...
... verse , Scatter , as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks , my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind , If Winter comes , can Spring be far behind ? P. B. Shelley . ODE ...
Page 221
... verses tell , To the throne of Naples he Lit you o'er the trackless sea , Flitting on , your prow before , Like a living meteor . 222 TO A LADY , WITH A GUITAR . When TO A LADY , WITH A GUITAR . 221 To a Lady, with a Guitar.
... verses tell , To the throne of Naples he Lit you o'er the trackless sea , Flitting on , your prow before , Like a living meteor . 222 TO A LADY , WITH A GUITAR . When TO A LADY , WITH A GUITAR . 221 To a Lady, with a Guitar.
Page 284
... The card that followeth : Her game in thy tongue is called Life , As ebbs thy daily breath : When she shall speak , thou'lt learn her tongue And know she calls it Death . D. G. Rossetti . YOUTH AND AGE VERSE , a breeze ' mid blossoms.
... The card that followeth : Her game in thy tongue is called Life , As ebbs thy daily breath : When she shall speak , thou'lt learn her tongue And know she calls it Death . D. G. Rossetti . YOUTH AND AGE VERSE , a breeze ' mid blossoms.
Page 306
... verse like Homer , no— Nor swept string like Terpander , no - nor carved And painted men like Phidias and his friend : I am not great as they are , point by point . But I have entered into sympathy With these four , running these into ...
... verse like Homer , no— Nor swept string like Terpander , no - nor carved And painted men like Phidias and his friend : I am not great as they are , point by point . But I have entered into sympathy With these four , running these into ...
Contents
3 | |
9 | |
15 | |
21 | |
27 | |
33 | |
38 | |
45 | |
187 | |
193 | |
195 | |
202 | |
207 | |
211 | |
218 | |
224 | |
56 | |
62 | |
64 | |
70 | |
76 | |
82 | |
83 | |
89 | |
91 | |
100 | |
106 | |
113 | |
119 | |
125 | |
130 | |
139 | |
145 | |
151 | |
157 | |
166 | |
172 | |
179 | |
225 | |
232 | |
238 | |
241 | |
247 | |
249 | |
253 | |
259 | |
266 | |
272 | |
273 | |
276 | |
279 | |
282 | |
319 | |
322 | |
326 | |
330 | |
331 | |
Other editions - View all
A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs and Sonnets, Odes and ... Amelia Blanford Edwards No preview available - 2017 |
A Poetry-Book of Modern Poets: Consisting of Songs and Sonnets, Odes and ... Amelia Blanford Edwards No preview available - 2018 |
Common terms and phrases
A. C. Swinburne Airly Beacon AUTUMN BARBARA FRITCHIE BELFRY OF BRUGES bells beneath bird blow boys come home breast breath bright CLEON clouds cowslips Cusha D. G. Rossetti daffodil dance dark dear death deep doth dream earth England's dead eyes fair flowers glory golden green hair hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Itylus kisses leaves light lips living Lochinvar look Lord Lord Byron loud maiden Minstrels and maids Modern Poets moon morn never night o'er OZYMANDIAS P. B. Shelley Persephone poem rain river rolling rose round S. T. Coleridge Samian wine shade shadow sigh silent sing sleep slumber snow song sorrow soul sound stars stream summer sweet tears Tennyson Terpander thee thine things thou art thought tree uppe Verse voice waves weep wild wind wings Wordsworth
Popular passages
Page 76 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Page 140 - 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, Clustered around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms, and winding mossy ways.
Page 143 - TO A WATERFOWL. WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 227 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Page 218 - THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Page 62 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 140 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet...
Page 148 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, •An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Page 256 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!
Page 66 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.