The World's Best Poetry ...John Vance Cheney, Sir Charles G. D. Roberts, Charles Francis Richardson, Francis Hovey Stoddard, John Raymond Howard J. D. Morris, 1904 |
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Page 11
... POPE . O , sons of earth ! attempt ye still to rise , By mountains piled on mountains to the skies ? Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys , And buries madmen in the heaps they raise . Essay on Man , Epistle IV . A. POPE ...
... POPE . O , sons of earth ! attempt ye still to rise , By mountains piled on mountains to the skies ? Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys , And buries madmen in the heaps they raise . Essay on Man , Epistle IV . A. POPE ...
Page 16
... POPE . Welcome , ye shades ! ye bowery thickets , hail ! ... Delicious is your shelter to the soul , As to the hunted hart the sallying spring , Or stream full - flowing , that his swelling sides Laves , as he floats along the herbaged ...
... POPE . Welcome , ye shades ! ye bowery thickets , hail ! ... Delicious is your shelter to the soul , As to the hunted hart the sallying spring , Or stream full - flowing , that his swelling sides Laves , as he floats along the herbaged ...
Page 24
... POPE . Why did I write ? what sin to me unknown Dipped me in ink , -my parents ' , or my own ! Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot : Prologue to the Satires . A. POPE . And so I penned It down , until at last it came to be , For length and breadth ...
... POPE . Why did I write ? what sin to me unknown Dipped me in ink , -my parents ' , or my own ! Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot : Prologue to the Satires . A. POPE . And so I penned It down , until at last it came to be , For length and breadth ...
Page 25
... POPE . Abstruse and mystic thought you must express With painful care , but seeming easiness ; For truth shines brightest thro ' the plainest dress . Essay on Translated Verse . W. DILLON . It may be glorious to write Thoughts that ...
... POPE . Abstruse and mystic thought you must express With painful care , but seeming easiness ; For truth shines brightest thro ' the plainest dress . Essay on Translated Verse . W. DILLON . It may be glorious to write Thoughts that ...
Page 36
... POPE . A hand may launch , a hand withhold : I , rather , with the leaping trout Wind , among lilies , in and out ; I , the unnamed , inviolate , Green , rustic rivers navigate . The Canoe Speaks . R. L. STEVENSON . Row us forth ...
... POPE . A hand may launch , a hand withhold : I , rather , with the leaping trout Wind , among lilies , in and out ; I , the unnamed , inviolate , Green , rustic rivers navigate . The Canoe Speaks . R. L. STEVENSON . Row us forth ...
Common terms and phrases
A. C. Swinburne Anonymous beauty Boston Brooks C. S. Calverley Canto Childe Harold Clergyman COWPER dear Death Don Juan doth Dramatist Dream DRYDEN earth England Epistle Essay fair faith Fame Farewell flower fools Friendship H. W. LONGFELLOW Hamlet hath heart Heaven HOUGHTON Hudibras Hymn Ireland J. G. Whittier J. R. LOWELL JOHN Journalist Julius Cæsar King Henry King Richard kiss Lady land light live LORD BYRON Macbeth Merchant of Venice MIFFLIN MILTON MOORE morning ne'er never Night Thoughts o'er P. B. SHELLEY P. J. BAILEY Paradise Lost poet poetry POPE Publishers rose S. T. Coleridge Scotland SCOTT SHAKESPEARE sleep Song Sonnet soul Summer sweet T. B. Aldrich TENNYSON thee things THOMAS THOMSON thou Trans Translation truth viii W. C. Bryant WILLIAM wind WORDSWORTH York YOUNG youth
Popular passages
Page 5 - Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow ; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.
Page 51 - Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further.
Page lix - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities.
Page 63 - Dis's wagon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Page 97 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law, but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
Page 15 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Page 118 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.
Page 116 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
Page 95 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
Page lii - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?