Imagination and Fancy: Or, Selections from the English Poets, Illustrative of Those First Requisites of Their Art; with Markings of the Best Passages, Critical Notices of the Writers, and an Essay in Answer to the Question, "What is Poetry?"
Wiley and Putnam, 1845 - 255 Seiten
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alliteration angels beauty better breath bring Character charm comes dance deep delight doth dream earth eyes face fair fairy fancy fear feeling fire flowers gentle give golden grace greatest hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hence imagination instance kind lady leave less light live look lord mean Milton mind moon nature never night once pain painted passage passion perhaps picture play poem poet poetical poetry queen reader rest rich rose round seems seen sense Shakspeare side sing sleep soft sometimes song soul sound speak Spenser spirit sweet tears tell thee things thou thought tree true truth turn unto verse voice whole wind wings wish witch wood writing young
Seite 221 - 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.
Seite 123 - That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Seite 254 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Seite 219 - Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Seite 195 - Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward angel now, and melt with ruth ! And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth...
Seite 218 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
Seite 189 - There in close covert by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep...
Seite 178 - As, when far off at sea, a fleet descried Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring Their spicy drugs; they, on the trading flood, Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seem'd Far off the flying fiend.
Seite 133 - Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Seite 122 - No night is now with hymn or carol blest : Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound : And thorough this distemperature we see The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems...