The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. Complete in One Volume |
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第 1 到 5 筆結果,共 100 筆
第 22 頁
Speak ! from thy storm - black Heaven , O speak aloud ! I mark'd Ambition in his war - array ! And on the darkling foe I heard the mailed Monarchi's troublous cryOpen thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud !
Speak ! from thy storm - black Heaven , O speak aloud ! I mark'd Ambition in his war - array ! And on the darkling foe I heard the mailed Monarchi's troublous cryOpen thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud !
第 61 頁
And every tongue , thro ' utter drought , And the good south wind still blew be- Was wither'd at the root ; hind , We could not speak , no more than if But no sweet bird did follow ...
And every tongue , thro ' utter drought , And the good south wind still blew be- Was wither'd at the root ; hind , We could not speak , no more than if But no sweet bird did follow ...
第 67 頁
I have only to add , that the metre of the Christabel is not , properly speaking , irregular , though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle : namely , that of counting in each line the accents , not the syllables .
I have only to add , that the metre of the Christabel is not , properly speaking , irregular , though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle : namely , that of counting in each line the accents , not the syllables .
第 68 頁
Alas , alas ! said Geraldine , I cannot speak for weariness . So free from danger , free from fear , They cross'd the court : right glad they were . And will your mother pity me , Who am a maiden most forlorn ? Christabel answer'd - Woe ...
Alas , alas ! said Geraldine , I cannot speak for weariness . So free from danger , free from fear , They cross'd the court : right glad they were . And will your mother pity me , Who am a maiden most forlorn ? Christabel answer'd - Woe ...
第 77 頁
On a rude rock , He deems , that we are plotting to ensnare him : A rock , methought , fast by a grove of firs , Speak to him , Lady - none can hear you speak , Whose thready leaves to the low - breathing gale And not believe you ...
On a rude rock , He deems , that we are plotting to ensnare him : A rock , methought , fast by a grove of firs , Speak to him , Lady - none can hear you speak , Whose thready leaves to the low - breathing gale And not believe you ...
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