Poets of the Younger GenerationJ. Lane, 1902 - 564 páginas |
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Página 7
... thought , with [ or without ] a tenderness for certain forms of arbitrary [ or spiritual ] sentiment which prevail among many people I know and like . I value poetry as a stimulus to sympathy and moral zeal [ or , as the beautiful ...
... thought , with [ or without ] a tenderness for certain forms of arbitrary [ or spiritual ] sentiment which prevail among many people I know and like . I value poetry as a stimulus to sympathy and moral zeal [ or , as the beautiful ...
Página 15
... thought was more obviously conditioned by his rhyme than it ought to be in verse of classical perfection . His three or four great lyrics , and some of his small ones , apart , his work produces on me very much the effect of " absolute ...
... thought was more obviously conditioned by his rhyme than it ought to be in verse of classical perfection . His three or four great lyrics , and some of his small ones , apart , his work produces on me very much the effect of " absolute ...
Página 17
... thought , individual , if not always harmonious , in utterance . Dante I read and re - read , but otherwise know scarcely anything of Italian poetry . Of French non - dramatic verse I am , alas ! almost equally ignorant . I have never ...
... thought , individual , if not always harmonious , in utterance . Dante I read and re - read , but otherwise know scarcely anything of Italian poetry . Of French non - dramatic verse I am , alas ! almost equally ignorant . I have never ...
Página 19
... thought , however , may be stated rather more comprehensively . The essence of poetry , to my mind , is its magical , its miraculous quality . When we feel that the artist has done something which could not possibly have been ...
... thought , however , may be stated rather more comprehensively . The essence of poetry , to my mind , is its magical , its miraculous quality . When we feel that the artist has done something which could not possibly have been ...
Página 20
... thought , no wit , no wisdom , no passion , no drama , nothing that can even be called description . There is not a word , except the two or three words of Latin , which a child of seven would not understand . All the writer says is ...
... thought , no wit , no wisdom , no passion , no drama , nothing that can even be called description . There is not a word , except the two or three words of Latin , which a child of seven would not understand . All the writer says is ...
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Términos y frases comunes
A. E. HOUSMAN admirable ballads Barrack-Room Ballads beautiful bird blank verse charm comes Countess Cathleen criticism Crown 8vo dark Davidson dead death deep divine doubt dramatic dream earth English entitled eyes face Fcap feel feet flower GUINEVERE H. C. BEECHING hand hath heart heaven Herod Housman imagination inspiration instance Keltic Kipling Kipling's less light lines lyric MARIAMNE Marpessa Matthew Arnold melody metrical metrist Milton mind mood moon Mordred never Newbolt night passage passion perhaps Phillips phrase piece play poem poet poet's poetic poetry Porphyrion Price pure quatrain quoted rhyme Richard Hovey rose scarcely seems sense Shropshire Lad sing song sonnet soul spirit stanza stars style sweet Tennyson thee thine things thou thought touch trochee utterance voice Watson wind wonder word write Yeats
Pasajes populares
Página 13 - You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light ; You common people of the skies ; What are you when the moon shall rise?
Página 458 - She looked a little wistfully, Then went her sunshine way: — The sea's eye had a mist on it, And the leaves fell from the day. She went her unremembering way, She went, and left in me The pang of all the partings gone, And partings yet to be. She left me marvelling why my soul Was sad that she was glad; At all the sadness in the sweet, The sweetness in the sad. Still, still I seemed to see her, still Look up with soft replies, And take the berries with her hand, And the love with her lovely eyes...
Página 250 - God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget!
Página 250 - If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law — Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest wo forget — lest we forget!
Página 231 - For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!" But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; An' Tommy ain'ta bloomin' fool — you bet that Tommy sees!
Página 558 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
Página 453 - TO A SNOWFLAKE What heart could have thought you? — Past our devisal (O filigree petal!) Fashioned so purely, Fragilely, surely, From what Paradisal Imagineless metal, Too costly for cost? Who hammered you, wrought you, From argentine vapor?
Página 191 - When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, "Give crowns and pounds and guineas, But not your heart, away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.
Página 242 - Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam! To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime Whaurto - uplifted like the Just - the tail-rods mark the time. The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs an' heaves, An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves: Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides, Till - hear that note ? - the rod's return whings glimmerin
Página 293 - Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin', They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago!