The American Whig Review, Volume 14Wiley and Putnam, 1851 - Periodicals |
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Page 34
are poets little enough to envy even a Poet | The intellectual character of Gray is ap- Laureate . " In 1758 he seems to have been parent both from what he did and what he did not . The small number of his works , and the many ...
are poets little enough to envy even a Poet | The intellectual character of Gray is ap- Laureate . " In 1758 he seems to have been parent both from what he did and what he did not . The small number of his works , and the many ...
Page 35
are poets little enough to envy even a Poet Laureate . " In 1758 he seems to have been much engaged in the study of architecture . In 1762 he was an unsuccessful applicant for the Professorship of Modern Languages , which had been ...
are poets little enough to envy even a Poet Laureate . " In 1758 he seems to have been much engaged in the study of architecture . In 1762 he was an unsuccessful applicant for the Professorship of Modern Languages , which had been ...
Page 47
... Poet hearts prefer to laugh and sing . Sing then , my friends , to welcome home the June comer , The month of glowing days and starry nights ; Enjoy its early hours of bliss , for soon Summer Will parch the current of its fresh delights ...
... Poet hearts prefer to laugh and sing . Sing then , my friends , to welcome home the June comer , The month of glowing days and starry nights ; Enjoy its early hours of bliss , for soon Summer Will parch the current of its fresh delights ...
Page 54
... poet whom I knew sang a sweet song to the Palm , as he dreamed in the moonlight upon that balcony . But it was only the free- masonry of sympathy . It was only syllabled moonshine . For the Palm was a Poet , and all Palms are Poets ...
... poet whom I knew sang a sweet song to the Palm , as he dreamed in the moonlight upon that balcony . But it was only the free- masonry of sympathy . It was only syllabled moonshine . For the Palm was a Poet , and all Palms are Poets ...
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Popular passages
Page 71 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
Page 459 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Page 422 - Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!
Page 171 - ... it is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national Union to your collective and individual happiness...
Page 285 - The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.
Page 71 - For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all. — I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 76 - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Page 510 - Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in hell : Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
Page 31 - In the same pious confidence, beside her friend and sister, here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful, tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her.
Page 220 - But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.