The Life and Letters of John KeatsE. Moxon, 1867 - 363 páginas |
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Página 43
... many very valiant knights . He is such a never - ending , still - beginning , sort of a body , like my landlady of the Bell . I think I could make a nice little allegorical poem , called " The Dun , " where JOHN KEATS . 43.
... many very valiant knights . He is such a never - ending , still - beginning , sort of a body , like my landlady of the Bell . I think I could make a nice little allegorical poem , called " The Dun , " where JOHN KEATS . 43.
Página 58
... sort of confidence , would do you a great happiness . May that be one of the many blessings I wish you . Let me be but the one - tenth of one to you , and I shall think it great . My brother George's kindest wishes to you . My dear ...
... sort of confidence , would do you a great happiness . May that be one of the many blessings I wish you . Let me be but the one - tenth of one to you , and I shall think it great . My brother George's kindest wishes to you . My dear ...
Página 67
... sort of ethereal pigs , and turned loose to feed upon spiritual mast and acorns ! which would be merely being a squirrel and feeding upon filberts ; for what is a squirrel but an airy pig , or a filbert 1 but a sort of archangelical ...
... sort of ethereal pigs , and turned loose to feed upon spiritual mast and acorns ! which would be merely being a squirrel and feeding upon filberts ; for what is a squirrel but an airy pig , or a filbert 1 but a sort of archangelical ...
Página 68
John Keats, Richard Monckton Milnes (Baron Houghton). 1 but a sort of archangelical acorn ? About the nuts being worth cracking , all I can say is , that where there are a throng of delightful images ready drawn , simplicity is the only ...
John Keats, Richard Monckton Milnes (Baron Houghton). 1 but a sort of archangelical acorn ? About the nuts being worth cracking , all I can say is , that where there are a throng of delightful images ready drawn , simplicity is the only ...
Página 73
... sort of scullion - mercury , or even a humble - bee . It is no matter whether I am right or wrong , either one way or another , if there is sufficient to lift a little time from your shoulders . Your affectionate friend , JOHN KEATS ...
... sort of scullion - mercury , or even a humble - bee . It is no matter whether I am right or wrong , either one way or another , if there is sufficient to lift a little time from your shoulders . Your affectionate friend , JOHN KEATS ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
The Life & Letters of John Keats Richard Monckton Milnes (Baron Houghton),John Keats Vista completa - 1927 |
Términos y frases comunes
affectionate friend appears AUCHTERCAIRN beautiful breath brother Brown Charles Cowden Clarke clouds comfort cottage DEAR BAILEY DEAR REYNOLDS death delight Devonshire Dilke dream Elgin Marbles endeavour Endymion eyes fair fame fancy feel flowers genius George George Keats give Hampstead hand happiness Haydon head hear heart heaven honour hope human Hunt Hyperion imagination Isle Isle of Wight JOHN KEATS Kean Keats's Kirkcudbright Lamia leave Leigh Hunt letter literary live look Lord Byron melancholy Milton mind morning mortal Muse nature never night numbers pain Paradise Lost passed passion perhaps pleasure poem poet poetical poetry Port Patrick Saturn seems Severn Shakespeare Shelley sincere friend sister sleep Sonnet soon sort soul speak spirit Staffa sure sweet TEIGNMOUTH tell thee thing thou thought tion verse walk wish word Wordsworth write written wrote
Pasajes populares
Página 204 - She found me roots of relish sweet. And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said — 'I love thee true!
Página 233 - Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian Bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned Both harp and voice ; nor could the Muse defend Her son.
Página 204 - La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
Página 80 - The hand that mocked them, / and the heart that fed: // And on the pedestal / these words appear: // "My name is Ozymandias, / king of kings: // Look on my works, ye Mighty, / and despair 1
Página 347 - One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain : The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake...
Página 118 - Man — of convincing one's nerves that the world is full of Misery and Heartbreak, Pain, Sickness and oppression — whereby this Chamber of Maiden Thought becomes gradually darken'd and at the same time on all sides of it many doors are set open — but all dark — all leading to dark passages — We see not the balance of good and evil. We are in a Mist. We are now in that state — We feel the
Página 345 - Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair ; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the...
Página 30 - ON THE SEA It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of Heaven were unbound.
Página 36 - I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
Página 181 - A Poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no Identity; he is continually in for and filling some other Body. The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute. The poet has none; no identity. He is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's Creatures.