A Book of Seventeenth Century Lyrics

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Felix Emmanuel Schelling
Ginn, 1899 - 314 Seiten

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Beliebte Passagen

Seite 256 - It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Seite 275 - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Seite 254 - WHENAS in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes! Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, — O how that glittering taketh me ! Robert Herrick 121.
Seite 217 - 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.
Seite 134 - WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates — When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
Seite 216 - Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
Seite 159 - Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life.
Seite 21 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Seite 22 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
Seite 144 - But ah, my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move, And, when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return.

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