THE COMPLETE WORKS OF JOHN KEATS IN FIVE VOLUMES

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第xliv页 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
第46页 - Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
第47页 - Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
第46页 - Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a. debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's...
第49页 - He of the rose, the violet, the spring, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake : And lo ! whose steadfastness would never take A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come ; These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings ? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.
第8页 - That in these days your praises should be sung On many harps, which he has lately strung ; And when again your dewiness he kisses, Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses : So haply when I rove in some far vale, 55 His mighty voice may come upon the gale. Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight : With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
第81页 - Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings; such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven, That spreading in this dull and clodded earth Gives it a touch ethereal- a new birth...
第71页 - Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.
第79页 - The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth; Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thou now, By thy love's milky brow! By all the trembling mazes that she ran, Hear us, great Pan...
第xlvi页 - She would turn a new side to her mortal, Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman — Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace, Blind to Galileo on his turret, Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats — him, even!

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