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admiration appear Ballads beautiful become beginning called cause CHAPTER character Coleridge Coleridge's common composition connected continued conversation criticism diction distinction edition effect equally essays excellence excitement existence expressed eyes fact Fancy feelings genius give given greater heart hope human images Imagination important instance interest Italy kind knowledge known language least less letter lines live Lyrical manner meaning metre mind nature never object once opinion original passage passed passion perhaps persons philosophical pleasure poem poet poetic poetry Preface present principles produced prose published reader reason reference Review seems sense sonnets sound speak spirit stanza style supposed taste things thought tion true truth verse volume whole wish Wordsworth writing written
Стр. xxxvi - O Lady! we receive but what we give And in our life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the Earth And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
Стр. 242 - 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, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Стр. 63 - ... with him: Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those. Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play : XCIX.
Стр. xxxv - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear...
Стр. xxxvi - All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green; And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars: Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen; Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; 1 see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful...
Стр. 74 - ... because in that condition of life our elementary feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity, and consequently may be more accurately contemplated and more forcibly communicated; because the manners of rural life germinate from those elementary feelings, and, from the necessary character of rural occupations, are more easily comprehended, and are more durable; and, lastly, because in that condition the passions of men are incorporated with the beautiful and permanent forms of nature.
Стр. 53 - ... 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; an inexhaustible treasure, but for which, in consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel nor understand.
Стр. 177 - Perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM.
Стр. 63 - From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did...