English LyricsKegan Paul, Trench & Company, 1883 - 296 Seiten |
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Seite 5
... dread cuts off my joy . Thus is my wealth mingled with woe , And of each thought a doubt doth grow , Now he comes , will he come ? alas ! no , no . IV . RICHARD EDWARDS , 1523-1566 . AMANTIUM IRE AMORIS HENRY HOWARD , EARL OF SURREY . 5.
... dread cuts off my joy . Thus is my wealth mingled with woe , And of each thought a doubt doth grow , Now he comes , will he come ? alas ! no , no . IV . RICHARD EDWARDS , 1523-1566 . AMANTIUM IRE AMORIS HENRY HOWARD , EARL OF SURREY . 5.
Seite 11
... then youth be still ; With lullaby content thy will ; Since courage quails and comes behind , Go sleep and so beguile thy mind ! Next , lullaby my gazing eyes , Which wonted were GEORGE GASCOIGNE . II The Lullaby of a Lover.
... then youth be still ; With lullaby content thy will ; Since courage quails and comes behind , Go sleep and so beguile thy mind ! Next , lullaby my gazing eyes , Which wonted were GEORGE GASCOIGNE . II The Lullaby of a Lover.
Seite 71
... comes home . Such wilt thou be to me , who must , Like the other foot , obliquely run ; Thy firmness makes my circles just , And makes me end where I begun . XLVIII . A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER . ILT JOHN DONNE . 71 John Donne John Donne.
... comes home . Such wilt thou be to me , who must , Like the other foot , obliquely run ; Thy firmness makes my circles just , And makes me end where I begun . XLVIII . A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER . ILT JOHN DONNE . 71 John Donne John Donne.
Seite 72
... shore ; But swear by Thyself , that at my death Thy Son Shall shine , as He shines now and heretofore : And having done that , Thou hast done ; I fear no more . XLIX . WE THE FUNERAL . HOEVER comes to shroud 22 72 ENGLISH LYRICS .
... shore ; But swear by Thyself , that at my death Thy Son Shall shine , as He shines now and heretofore : And having done that , Thou hast done ; I fear no more . XLIX . WE THE FUNERAL . HOEVER comes to shroud 22 72 ENGLISH LYRICS .
Seite 73
English lyrics. XLIX . WE THE FUNERAL . HOEVER comes to shroud me , do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm ; The mystery , the sign you must not touch , For ' tis my outward soul , Viceroy to that which ...
English lyrics. XLIX . WE THE FUNERAL . HOEVER comes to shroud me , do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm ; The mystery , the sign you must not touch , For ' tis my outward soul , Viceroy to that which ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
adieu Love Anthony Wood beauty BEN JONSON best fits birds blow breast breath bright brow cold County Guy Cymbeline Cynthia's Revels dead dear death delight doth earth England's Helicon eyes fancy fear fits a little flowers give gone grave hath heart heaven Honour lady leaves light live look love anew Love's lovers Lucasta lulla lullaby lyric maid Master Constable Melicertus mind morning ne'er never Nice Valour night nonny numbers o'er old familiar faces pain Phillada flouts Phillis pity poem Queen roses Sally shine sighs sight sing Sir Walter Scott sleep smile SONG sorrow soul spring stars tears tell thee thine things Thomas Dekker Thomas Farnaby thou art thou dost Thou hast Thou lovest amiss thought toil unto untrue Love verse wanton waves weep William Haughton winds wings winter WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 130 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against Fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Seite 198 - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament : Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; Like twilight's too her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
Seite 146 - 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.
Seite 61 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Seite 72 - A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. W ILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before ? Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run And do run still, though still I do deplore ? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; For I have more.
Seite 201 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Seite 80 - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Seite 75 - QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess, excellently bright! Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose: Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess, excellently bright!
Seite 218 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave— For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave...
Seite 87 - Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity : 'Fie, fie, fie...