English Sonnets by Poets of the Past

Front Cover
G. Bell and Sons, 1888 - 238 pages
 

Contents

thought once how Theocritus had sung Elizabeth Barrett Browning
183
My own beloved who hast lifted me Elizabeth Barrett Browning
184
If thou must love me let it be for nought Elizabeth Barrett Browning
185
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead Elizabeth Barrett Browning
186
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways Elizabeth Barrett Browning
187
Beloved thou hast brought me many flowers Elizabeth Barrett Browning
188
If I might choose where my tired limbs shall lie John Anster
189
To the British Oak Charles Crocker
190
Not war nor hurrying troops from plain to plain Henry Alford
191
The Masters Call Henry Alford
192
But deck the boardfor hither comes a band Henry Alford
193
Το Mary Henry Alford
194
Lady I bid thee to a sunny dome Arthur Henry Hallam
195
Oh blessing and delight of my young heart Arthur Henry Hallam
196
To the Authoress of Our Village Charles Kingsley
197
On the Ramparts at Angouleme Frederick William Faber
198
Our thoughts are greater than ourselves our dreams Frederick William Faber
199
Like a musician that with flying finger William Caldwell Roscoe
200
Sad soul whom God re suming what He gave William Caldwell Roscoe
201
Solitude Thomas Noel
202
Times Waves Thomas Noel
203
The Aconite Thomas Noel
204
Beauty still walketh on the earth and air Alexander Smith
205
To America Sydney Dobell
206
To a Friend in Bereave ment Sydney Dobell
207
Ad Matrem 1862 Julian Fane
208
Ad Matrem 1864 Julian Fane
209
Ad Matrem 1870 Julian Fane
210
Brother and Sister George Eliot
211
Brother and Sister George Eliot
212
A Disappointment Alice Mary Blunt
213
To a Brooklet David Gray
214
The Luggie David Gray
215
Sunset George Morine
216

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Page 145 - BRIGHT STAR! would I were steadfast as thou art: Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Page 17 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses...
Page 16 - 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.
Page 73 - Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains ; each a mighty Voice : In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty...
Page 71 - It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea: Listen!
Page 139 - 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...
Page 40 - I write of youth, of love, and have access By these, to sing of cleanly wantonness ; I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece, Of balm, of oil, of spice, and amber-greece ; I sing of times trans-shifting ; and I write How roses first came red, and lilies white.
Page 83 - Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide ; The Form remains, the Function never dies ; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish ; — be it -so ! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour ; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
Page 15 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Page 19 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

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