The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb Poems and Plays |
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Author:
| Lamb, Charles |
ISBN: | 978-0-217-28589-6 |
Publication Date: | Jan 2012 |
Publisher: | General Books LLC
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Book Format: | Paperback |
List Price: | AUD $10.78 |
Book Description:
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: The lord of light shakes off his drowsyhed. Drowsyhed I have Fresh from his couch up springs the lusty Sun, met with I think in And girds himself his mighty race to run. Spencer. Tis an old Meantime, by truant love of rambling led, thing, but it rhymes I turn my back on thy detested walls, with led and...
More DescriptionPurchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: The lord of light shakes off his drowsyhed. Drowsyhed I have Fresh from his couch up springs the lusty Sun, met with I think in And girds himself his mighty race to run. Spencer. Tis an old Meantime, by truant love of rambling led, thing, but it rhymes I turn my back on thy detested walls, with led and rhyming Proud City, and thy sons I leave behind, covers a multitude of A selfish, sordid, money-getting kind, licences. Who shut their ears when holy Freedom calls. I pass not thee so lightly, humble spire, That mindest me of many a pleasure gone, Of merriest days, of love and Islington, Kindling anew the flames of past desire; And I shall muse on thee, slow journeying on, To the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire. The last line is a copy of Bowles's, to the green hamlet in the peaceful plain. Your ears are not so very fastidious? many people would not like words so prosaic and familiar in a sonnet as Islington and Hertfordshire. The next was written within a day or two of the last, on revisiting a spot where the scene was laid of my ist sonnet that mock'd my step with many a lonely glade. When last I roved these winding wood-walks green, Green winding walks, and pathways shady-sweet, Oftimes would Anna seek the silent scene, Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat. No more I hear her footsteps in the shade; Her image only in these pleasant ways Meets me self-wandring where in better days I held free converse with my fair-hair'd maid. I pass'd the little cottage, which she loved, The cottage which did once my all contain: It spake of days that ne'er must come again, Spake to my heart and much my heart was moved. Now fair befall thee, gentle maid, said I, And from the cottage turn'd me, with a sigh. The next ...