The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900

Front Cover
Arthur Quiller-Couch
Clarendon Press, 1912 - 1084 pages
The entire text of the 1084-page original, edited by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, is available and searchable. The collection may be browsed using alphabetic indices of authors, titles, or first lines. A chronological index of authors, from a 13th-century Anonymous to R.D. Blackmore (1825-1900 is also available).
 

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Page 592 - would he be of soul who could pass A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did
Page 697 - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, from thy presence showers a rain of melody:— Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded
Page 722 - I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme. To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die. To cease upon the midnight with no pain. While thou art pouring forth thy soul In such an ecstasy!
Page 592 - unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep
Page 700 - 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
Page 875 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light ; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly ! But westward, look, the land is bright! WALT WHITMAN
Page 495 - i What though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball ; What though nor real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found? In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice; For ever singing as they shine, 'The Hand that made us is divine.
Page 352 - He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all. And in the empire of thine heart, Where I should solely be, If others do pretend a part Or dare to vie with me, Or if
Page 727 - bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the. core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding, more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Page 723 - youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve ; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair

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