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  1. Hace 4 días · En 1789, la obra de baladas líricas de Wordsworth y Coleridge, se sitúa al inicio del romanticismo inglés. William Wordsworth. Expuso sus ideas sobre la creación en el prólogo a la segunda mitad de la edición de las Baladas líricas, en una especie de preceptiva poética, expresaba su preferencia por las cosas y el lenguaje ...

  2. Hace 3 días · My father's family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, D. The time, when, in our childish plays, D. My sister Emmeline and I E. Together chased the butterfly! A very hunter did I rush F. Upon the prey:---with leaps and spring X. I followed on from brake to bush; X. But she, God love her, feared to brush F.

  3. Hace 4 días · STERN Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love, B. Who art a light to guide, a rod A. To check the erring and reprove; B. Thou, who art victory and law X. When empty terrors overawe; X. From vain temptations dost set free; C. And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye D.

  4. Hace 3 días · Of the survivors, to the clouds might bear, Blended with praise of that parental love, Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew. Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, Though young so wise, though meek so resolute, Might carry to the clouds and to the stars, Yea, to celestial Choirs, Grace Darling's name! William Wordsworth.

  5. Hace 4 días · The eye reposes on a secret bridge. Half grey, half shagged with ivy to its ridge; There, bending o'er the stream, the listless swain. Lingers behind his disappearing wain. --Did Sabine grace adorn my living line, Blandusia's praise, wild stream, should yield to thine! Never shall ruthless minister of death.

  6. Hace 5 días · Created in Shenzhen, China

    • 2 min
    • 1
    • Steve Mann
  7. Hace 1 día · The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are ...