The English Poets: Ben Jonson to DrydenMacmillan and Company, 1889 |
Contenido
| 73 | |
| 85 | |
| 104 | |
| 111 | |
| 124 | |
| 135 | |
| 141 | |
| 147 | |
| 158 | |
| 170 | |
| 178 | |
| 189 | |
| 197 | |
| 211 | |
| 219 | |
| 291 | |
| 380 | |
| 393 | |
| 403 | |
| 408 | |
| 409 | |
| 411 | |
| 419 | |
| 430 | |
| 437 | |
| 459 | |
| 469 | |
| 476 | |
| 484 | |
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Catullus Comus conceits Cowley Crashaw death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace Habington hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Jonson kings kiss L'Allegro Lady less light live Lord Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night nymphs o'er Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion pastoral Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rose shade shalt shepherd shine sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit spring stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep WILLIAM HABINGTON winds wings write youth
Pasajes populares
Página 322 - YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more, Ye Myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Página 184 - Going to the Wars Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.
Página 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
Página 326 - There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Página 315 - And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew : Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Página 310 - Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse...
Página 328 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts. Who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state Is kingly: thousands...
Página 476 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began; From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.
Página 324 - When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Página 483 - Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down ! A* ODE TO SAINT CECILIA.