The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.1837 |
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Seite xv
... grace the dwellings of the poor . Nor owns the eye alone your potent spell , The soul of music lingers ' mid your boughs ; Like harp e'er tuned , ' t is yours to sink or swell Responsive to each varying blast which blows . Let but the ...
... grace the dwellings of the poor . Nor owns the eye alone your potent spell , The soul of music lingers ' mid your boughs ; Like harp e'er tuned , ' t is yours to sink or swell Responsive to each varying blast which blows . Let but the ...
Seite 6
... link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
... link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
Seite 7
... might , like gale of spring , Cause some new grace to bloom ! And that the storm which scattereth Each earth - born hope abroad , Might anchor those of holier birth More firmly on my God ! THE ELM . ULMUS CAMPESTRIS . " Follow me , B 4 7.
... might , like gale of spring , Cause some new grace to bloom ! And that the storm which scattereth Each earth - born hope abroad , Might anchor those of holier birth More firmly on my God ! THE ELM . ULMUS CAMPESTRIS . " Follow me , B 4 7.
Seite 27
... faith perceive " A still , small voice " blend other truths with thine , And , where thou fail'st , take up the wondrous theme , Till grace and glory on my musings beam ! THE BEECH . FAGUS SYLVATICA . " Not a beech 27.
... faith perceive " A still , small voice " blend other truths with thine , And , where thou fail'st , take up the wondrous theme , Till grace and glory on my musings beam ! THE BEECH . FAGUS SYLVATICA . " Not a beech 27.
Seite 49
... grace ; and in thy mountain - hold , Like flowers with zephyrs " at the shut of eve , " Thou with the storm hast dallied from of old . But stateliness of form and bearing bold Are not thy only boast : there dwells in thee A soft , sweet ...
... grace ; and in thy mountain - hold , Like flowers with zephyrs " at the shut of eve , " Thou with the storm hast dallied from of old . But stateliness of form and bearing bold Are not thy only boast : there dwells in thee A soft , sweet ...
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The Spirit of the Woods, by the Author of 'The Moral of Flowers' Rebecca Hey Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2016 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
adorn alder alluded amongst ancient Arbutus autumn banyan beauty beech beneath berries birch birks of Aberfeldy bloom blossoms boughs bower branches breath bright brow cedar cherry clusters crown cultivated cypress dark doth earth Evelyn evergreens fair fair brow fancy feel flowers foliage forest fragrance fruit garden genus Gilpin gives gloom glory glow graceful green ground grove grows growth hath hawthorn hazel heart heaven height holly honour LAURUS NOBILIS leaf leaves misletoe Mount Ida mountain mountain ash myrtle native nature Norway spruce o'er olive paliurus palm peace pine plant poet pyracantha rock rose sacred says scene scenery seem'd shade Shakspeare shrubs smile soil solemn song species spell spring summer sweet sylvan tears temple thee Thomas Dick Lauder thorns thou timber tint tree vine Virgil weeping whilst wild wild cherry willow wood yield
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 95 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Seite 151 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Seite 92 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Seite 14 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Seite 271 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Seite 183 - The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between...
Seite 2 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Seite 121 - It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps...
Seite 173 - Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, In Desolation unrepining, Without a hope on earth to find A mirror in an answering mind, Meek souls there are, who little dream Their daily strife an Angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
Seite 258 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...