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acquaintance admire appearance beautiful become believe called character child close Coleridge course criticism dark death deep doctrine drama dream effect England English essay existence expression eyes face fact Faust feeling follow genius hand heart hope human idea ideal imagination interest Italy labour lady language less letter light lines literary literature living look lost means Mephistopheles mind moral nature never noble object observed once passages passed passion perfect perhaps period person philosopher pleasure poem poet poetic poetry present principles question Quincey reader reason remarkable says scene seems sentimental Shelley single society soul sound spirit story struggle style suffering sure sympathy things thought tion touch true truth universal utterance voice Wanderer whole wild Wordsworth writings written young youth
Page 233 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Page 239 - I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity, an atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn, a pestilent and mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued.
Page 124 - A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ; •^*- I had no human fears : She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force ; She neither hears nor sees ; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Page 230 - All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few ! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep ! O God ! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp ? O God ! can I not save] One from the pitiless wave ? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream ? DREAMLAND.
Page 75 - own exceeding great reward;' it has soothed my afflictions; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.
Page 235 - My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep!
Page 165 - And from the other opening in the wood Rushes, with loud and whirlwind harmony, A sphere, which is as many thousand spheres, Solid as crystal, yet through all its mass Flow, as through empty space, music and light...
Page 63 - He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.
Page 243 - ... my thoughts, murmured out some few words from which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead — for we could not regard her unawed.