The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One VolumeJohn Grigg, 1831 - 607 pages |
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Page 13
... winds , the Minstrel came . Light - hearted youth ! aye , as he hastes along , He meditates the future song , How ... wind , Muse on the sore ills I had left behind . 13 The Pixies , in the superstition of Devonshire , are JUVENILE ...
... winds , the Minstrel came . Light - hearted youth ! aye , as he hastes along , He meditates the future song , How ... wind , Muse on the sore ills I had left behind . 13 The Pixies , in the superstition of Devonshire , are JUVENILE ...
Page 32
... winds , and playmates of the. By Time's wild harp , and by the hand Whose indefatigable sweep Raises its ... wind clamors hoarse ! See ! the starting wretch's head Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse ! ) VII . Not yet enslaved ...
... winds , and playmates of the. By Time's wild harp , and by the hand Whose indefatigable sweep Raises its ... wind clamors hoarse ! See ! the starting wretch's head Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse ! ) VII . Not yet enslaved ...
Page 33
... wind ! Away , my soul , away ! I , unpartaking of the evil thing , With daily prayer and daily toil Soliciting for food my scanty soil , Have wail'd my country with a loud lament . Now I recentre my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of ...
... wind ! Away , my soul , away ! I , unpartaking of the evil thing , With daily prayer and daily toil Soliciting for food my scanty soil , Have wail'd my country with a loud lament . Now I recentre my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of ...
Page 59
... wind , Which long has raved unnoticed . What a scream Of agony by torture lengthen'd out That lute sent forth ! Thou Wind , that ravest without , Bare crag , or mountain - tairn , or blasted tree , Or pine - grove whither woodman never ...
... wind , Which long has raved unnoticed . What a scream Of agony by torture lengthen'd out That lute sent forth ! Thou Wind , that ravest without , Bare crag , or mountain - tairn , or blasted tree , Or pine - grove whither woodman never ...
Page 71
... wind sprung up behind ; The Albatross did follow , And every day , for food or play , Came to the mariner's hollo ! In mist or cloud , on mast or shroud , It perch'd for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night , through fog- smoke white ...
... wind sprung up behind ; The Albatross did follow , And every day , for food or play , Came to the mariner's hollo ! In mist or cloud , on mast or shroud , It perch'd for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night , through fog- smoke white ...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume Samuel Taylor Coleridge No preview available - 2012 |
Common terms and phrases
AHASUERUS ALVAR arms art thou BATHORY BEATRICE beautiful beneath BETHLEN blood breath bright BUTLER calm CENCI child clouds cold COUNTESS curse CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dare dark dead dear death deep DEMOGORGON dost doth dream earth Egra EMERICK Endymion eyes fair father fear feel flowers gaze gentle GLYCINE hath hear heard heart Heaven hope hour human ILLO ISOLANI lady Laon LASKA light lips live look Lord MEPHISTOPHELES mighty moon mountains never night o'er OCTAVIO ORDONIO pale PANTHEA poison'd PROMETHEUS QUESTENBERG RAAB KIUPRILI ROBESPIERRE round SAROLTA SCENE seem'd SEMICHORUS shadow silent SILENUS slaves sleep smile song soul sound spirit stars strange stream sweet tears tempest TERESA TERTSKY thee THEKLA thine things thou art thought throne trembling truth tyrant VALDEZ voice WALLENSTEIN waves weep wild wind wings words youth
Popular passages
Page 462 - I bear light shades for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again 1 dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 464 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then — as I am listening now.
Page 72 - But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made ; Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade.
Page 463 - I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below.
Page 75 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 463 - 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 457 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves...
Page 457 - ODE TO THE WEST WIND O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow...
Page 464 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 463 - Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea...