An Introduction to Good Poetry |
From inside the book
Page 23
... Or the selfish hope of a season's fame , But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote : " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! " The sand of the desert is sodden red , — Red with the wreck of a square that broke ; - The Gatling's ...
... Or the selfish hope of a season's fame , But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote : " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! " The sand of the desert is sodden red , — Red with the wreck of a square that broke ; - The Gatling's ...
Page 29
... Or the selfish hope of a season's fame , But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote : " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! " The sand of the desert is sodden red , — Red with the wreck of a square that broke ; - The Gatling's ...
... Or the selfish hope of a season's fame , But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote : " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! " The sand of the desert is sodden red , — Red with the wreck of a square that broke ; - The Gatling's ...
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Common terms and phrases
A. H. Clough auld lang syne battle Blynken Book brave break British C. H. HERFORD Cantos Charles Annandale cloth clouds Compare Crispian daffodils death earth England feel fight five feet flowers foot four accented syllables four feet galloped glory Greeks heaven Henry honour imagination isle John Downie Julius Cæsar Keith Leask King land language lesson light Lionel W M.A. English M.A. Price MACAULAY-Essay Merchant of Venice Metre Napoleon never night noise Notice peace picture piece play the game pleasure poem poet poetry Printed by permission Prospice quiet river sail sailors scene seems Shakespeare ships short syllable sight singing soldier song sound stars storm stormy winds story Tennyson thee things thou thought TINTERN ABBEY torch town Trafalgar trees Ulysses verse rhyme W. H. D. ROUSE waves Wellington winds do blow Word-Building words Wynken
Popular passages
Page 44 - Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Page 43 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Page 45 - AT the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where — by death, fools think, imprisoned — Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so, — Pity me? Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! What had I on earth to do With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Page 36 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
Page 28 - And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, "To-morrow is Saint Crispian." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Page 33 - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! And the thick heavy spume-flakes...
Page 43 - This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Page 45 - And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!
Page 42 - Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. [The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Page 34 - ... jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground...