The Cambridge Book of Poetry and SongCharlotte Fiske Bates Thomas Y. Crowell & Company, 1882 - 882 pages |
From inside the book
Page 429
... Yet write , oh ! write me all , that I may join Griefs to thy griefs , and echo sighs to thine . Nor foes nor fortune take this power away ; And is my Abelard less kind than they ? Tears still are mine , and those I need not spare ...
... Yet write , oh ! write me all , that I may join Griefs to thy griefs , and echo sighs to thine . Nor foes nor fortune take this power away ; And is my Abelard less kind than they ? Tears still are mine , and those I need not spare ...
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Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
angels art thou Aurora Leigh Babie Bell beauty beneath bird blessed bliss bloom breast breath bright brow calm child Childe Harold cloud crown dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth evermore eyes face fair fear feel flowers frae glory gold golden grave gray green hand happy hath hear heart heaven hope hour kiss Lars Porsena leaves life's light lips live lonely look Lord love's morning never night Night Thoughts o'er pain Philip Van Artevelde praise rest rose round S. T. Coleridge shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile snow soft song sorrow soul spirit spring stars summer sweet T. B. Aldrich tears tell tempest thee thine things thou art thou hast thought Twas voice waves weary weep wild wind wings wonder youth
Popular passages
Page 422 - Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by...
Page 377 - 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-labor, light denied ?
Page 297 - Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And. with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,
Page 311 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
Page 316 - Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming...
Page 669 - High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with...
Page 344 - 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 honour more.
Page 234 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Page 491 - That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer...
Page 75 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine...
Bibliographic information
| Pealkiri | The Cambridge Book of Poetry and Song Online access with subscription: JISC Historical Texts |
| Editor | Charlotte Fiske Bates |
| Compiled by | Charlotte Fiske Bates |
| Publisher | Thomas Y. Crowell & Company, 1882 |
| Original from | California Ülikool |
| Digitized | 24 okt. 2007 |
| Length | 882 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |