The English Poets: Chaucer to Donne

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Thomas Humphry Ward
Macmillan and Company, 1901
 

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Página 461 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Página 451 - Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Página 349 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries...
Página 458 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds, Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Página xl - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will, for a' that, That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Página 452 - So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain* jewels in the carcanet.
Página 448 - When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard...
Página 492 - Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust ; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust. My God shall raise me up, I trust I ELIZABETHAN MISCELLANIES.
Página 490 - Tell fortune of her blindness ; Tell nature of decay; Tell friendship of unkindness ; Tell justice of delay: And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming ; Tell schools they want profoundness,^ And stand too much on seeming : If arts and schools reply, Give arts and schools the lie. Tell faith it's fled the city; Tell how the country erreth ; Tell manhood shakes off pity ; Tell virtue least preferreth : And if they do reply, Spare not...
Página 455 - Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans and unfatherM fruit ; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

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