Pages from a Journal: With Other Papers

الغلاف الأمامي
H. Frowde, Oxford University Press, 1910 - 343 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 90 - Mr Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his object to give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind's attention from the lethargy of custom and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us...
الصفحة 88 - During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colors of imagination.
الصفحة 88 - In the one the incidents and agents were to be, in part at least, supernatural; and the excellence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such situations, supposing them real.
الصفحة 182 - LORD, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty : Neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.
الصفحة 180 - In the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham bought with the field of Ephron the Hittite for a possession of a buryingplace.
الصفحة 92 - The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock : The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light Till, rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.
الصفحة 104 - Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other : And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their...
الصفحة 68 - tis understood The mere commingling of passionate breath, Produce more than our searching witnesseth: What I know not: but who, of men, can tell That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail, The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale, The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones, The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones, Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet? If human souls did never kiss and greet?
الصفحة 108 - Who with her radiant finger still'd the roar Of thunder, chas'd the clouds, and laid the winds, And grisly spectres, which the fiend had raised To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.
الصفحة 115 - There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ; Which not the darkness of despair can damp, Though vain its ray as it had never been.

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