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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
No preview available - 2012
ALHADRA Alvar ALWAR arms art thou Bathory BEATRICE beneath Bethlen blood breath bright Butler calm Casimir child clouds countess Cuirassiers curse dare dark dead dear death deep DEMOGorgoN doth dream Duchess Duke earth Egra Emerick Emperor Enter Erit evil eyes faith father fear feel gaze Glycine Gordon hand hath hear heard heart Heaven honor hope human ILL0 Illo Illyria Isidore Isolani lady Laon LASKA light live look look'd Lord MARADAs mighty mother ne'er NEUBRUNN night o'er octavio ordonio pale pause Piccolomini Prague QUESTENBERG RAAB KIUPRILI RAGozzi Robespierre round SAROLTA SCENE seem'd shadow silent slave sleep smile soul speak spirit stars strange Swedes sweet sword TALLIEN tears tell Teresa TERtsky thee Thekla thine things thou art thought throne traitor truth Twas tyrant voice WALDEz WALLENSTEIN wild wind wings words Zapolya
Page 210 - I bear light shades for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again 1 dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 212 - 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.
Page 62 - But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made ; Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade.
Page 211 - I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below.
Page 65 - There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 211 - That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer...
Page 205 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves...
Page 205 - ODE TO THE WEST WIND O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow...
Page 212 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.