Selections from the British Poets: Chronologically Arranged from Chaucer to the Present Time, Under Separate Divisions, with Introductions Explaining the Different Species of Poetry
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beauty beneath birds bless BORN breast breath bright calm child clouds dark death deep delight DIED doth earth eternal fair faith fall fear feel fields flow flowers give glory glow grave green grow hand happy hath head hear heart heaven hills hope hour human HYMN land leave light live look Lord mind morning mountain nature never night o'er once pass peace plain pleasure poetry poets poor praise prayer rest rich rise roll rose round scene shade shine sight silent sleep smile soft song soon soul sound spirit spread spring stars stream sweet tears thee thine things thou thought trees truth turn virtue voice walks wandering waters wave wild wind wings young youth
Page 59 - Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy and confined, from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come...
Page 204 - Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee...
Page 203 - To die, to sleep ; To sleep : perchance to dream : ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life...
Page 429 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Page 204 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — O Sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...
Page 325 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Page 144 - We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbour and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky : The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask ; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Page 375 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Page 11 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 355 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.