37 Works in the "S" Index

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee - Emily Brontë
all nature cease to bow? Thy mind is ever moving, In regions dark to thee; Recall its useless roving, Come back, and dwell with me. I know my mountain breezes Enchant and soothe thee still, I know my sunshine pleases, Despite thy wayward will. When day with evening blending, Sinks from the summer sky, I've seen thy spirit bending In fond idolatry. I've watched thee every hour;

Song - Emily Brontë
hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caressed, Have left her solitude! I ween, that when the grave's dark wall Did first her form retain, They thought their hearts could ne'er recall The light of joy again. They thought the tide of grief would flow Unchecked through future years; But where is all t

Stanzas - Emily Brontë
aving busy chase of wealth and learning For idle dreams of things which cannot be: To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; And visions rising, legion after legion, Bring the unreal world too strangely near. I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, And not in paths of high morality, And not among the half-distinguished faces, The clouded forms

Stanzas To ---- - Emily Brontë
ust ever mourn Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; One word turned back my gushing tears, And lit my altered eye with sneers. Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, "That hides thy unlamented head! Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- My heart has nought akin to thine; Thy

Stanzas- - Emily Brontë
dark world grieve me, While thy heart suffers there. I'll not weep, because the summer's glory Must always end in gloom; And, follow out the happiest story-- It closes with a tomb! And I am weary of the anguish Increasing winters bear; Weary to watch the spirit languish Through years of dead despair. So, if a tear, when thou art dying, Should haply fall from me, It is but that m

Stars - Emily Brontë
left a desert sky? All through the night, your glorious eyes Were gazing down in mine, And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, I blessed that watch divine. I was at peace, and drank your beams As they were life to me; And revelled in my changeful dreams, Like petrel on the sea. Thought followed thought, star followed star, Through boundless regions, on; While one sweet influence

Sympathy - Emily Brontë
dew, And sunshine gilds the morning. There should be no despair--though tears May flow down like a river: Are not the best beloved of years Around your heart for ever? They weep, you weep, it must be so; Winds sigh as you are sighing, And winter sheds its grief in snow Where Autumn's leaves are lying: Yet, these revive, and from their fate Your fate cannot be parted: Then, journey o

She Walks in Beauty - Lord George Gordon Byron
ark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft

So, We'll Go No More a Roving - Lord George Gordon Byron
the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.

Solitude - Lord George Gordon Byron
hings that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to fe

Stanzas For Music - Lord George Gordon Byron
y sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lulled winds seem dreaming; And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee, With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer

Stanzas For Music, There's Not a Joy the World Can Give - Lord George Gordon Byron
ines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall nev

Stanzas To Augusta - Lord George Gordon Byron
ing spark Which more misled my lonely way; In that deep midnight of the mind, And that internal strife of heart, When dreading to be deemed too kind, The weak despair -the cold depart; When fortune changed -and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose, and set not to the last. Oh, blest be thine unbroken light! That watched me

Stanzas To the Po - Lord George Gordon Byron
hy brink, and there perchance recalls A faint and fleeting memory of me; What if thy deep and ample stream should be A mirror of my heart, where she may read The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed! What do I say -a mirror of my heart? Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong? Such as my feelings were and are, thou art; And such as

Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa - Lord George Gordon Byron
nd the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! -if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of

Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who, for many years of his life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her death, w

Songs of Experience-My Pretty Rose-Tree - William Blake
And I passed the sweet flower o'er. Then I went to my pretty rose-tree, To tend her by day and by night; But my rose turned away with jealousy, And her thorns were my only delight.

Songs of Experience-The Fly - William Blake
Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death, Then am I A happy fly, If I live Or if I die

Songs of Experience-The Sunflower - William Blake
lime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my Sunflower wishes to go.

Songs of Innocence-Night - William Blake
And I must seek for mine. The moon like a flower, In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have took delight; Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom. They look in every

Songs of Innocence-The Chimney Sweeper - William Blake
'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said, "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, - That thou

Songs of Innocence-The Little Black Boy - William Blake
l is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say: "Look on the rising sun, -there God does live And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy

Songs of Innocence-The Schoolboy - William Blake
horn, And the skylark sings with me. Oh, what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn, Oh! it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah! then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How can

Songs of Innocence-The Shepherd - William Blake
sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise. For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

Shirley - Charlotte Brontë
lie very thick on the hills; every parish has one or more of them; they are young enough to be very active, and ought to be doing a great deal of good. But not of late years are we about to speak; we are going back to the beginning of this century: late years - present years are dusty, sunburnt, hot, arid; we will evade the noon, forget it in siesta, pass the midday in slumber, and dream of dawn.

Small Fry - Anton Chekhov
n Easter congratulatory letter. "I trust that you may spend this Holy Day even as many more to come, in good health and prosperity. And to your family also I . . ." The lamp, in which the kerosene was getting low, was smoking and smelling. A stray cockroach was running about the table in alarm near Nevyrazimov's writing hand. Two rooms away from the office Paramon the porter was for the third

Sorrow - Anton Chekhov
me time as the most senseless peasant in the Galtchinskoy district, was taking his old woman to the hospital. He had to drive over twenty miles, and it was an awful road. A government post driver could hardly have coped with it, much less an incompetent sluggard like Grigory. A cutting cold wind was blowing straight in his face. Clouds of snowflakes were whirling round and round in all directions,

Strong Impressions - Anton Chekhov
t, before lying down to sleep fell into conversation about strong impressions. They were led to this discussion by recalling a witness who, by his own account, had begun to stammer and had gone grey owing to a terrible moment. The jurymen decided that before going to sleep, each one of them should ransack among his memories and tell something that had happened to him. Man's life is brief, but yet

Shrove Tuesday - Anton Chekhov
help Styopa with his lessons, he is sitting crying over his book. He can't understand something again!" Pavel Vassilitch gets up, makes the sign of the cross over his mouth as he yawns, and says softly: "In a minute, my love!" The cat who has been asleep beside him gets up too, straightens out its tail, arches its spine, and half-shuts its eyes. There is stillness. . . . Mice can be heard

Sleepy - Anton Chekhov
, and humming hardly audibly: "Hush-a-bye, my baby wee, While I sing a song for thee." A little green lamp is burning before the ikon; there is a string stretched from one end of the room to the other, on which baby-clothes and a pair of big black trousers are hanging. There is a big patch of green on the ceiling from the ikon lamp, and the baby-clothes and the trousers throw long shadows

Sonnet: To the River Otter - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
y and what mournful hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny ray, But straight with all their tints thy waters rise, Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey, And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes, Gleamed through thy bri

She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms - Emily Dickinson
st, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in, You dropped an amber thread; And now you've littered all the East With duds of emerald! And still she plies her spotted brooms, And still the aprons fly, Till brooms fade softly into stars - And then I come away.

Snake - Emily Dickinson
udden is. The grass divides as with a comb, A spotted shaft is seen; And then it closes at your feet And opens further on. He likes a boggy acre, A floor too cool for corn. Yet when a child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn, Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun, - When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone. Several of nature's people I

Success is Counted Sweetest - Emily Dickinson
ed. Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag today Can tell the definition, So clear, of victory As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear!

Summer Shower - Emily Dickinson
gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, Were they pearls, What necklaces could be! The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung; The sunshine threw his hat away, The orchards spangles hung. The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away.

Silas Marner - George Eliot
ed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak -- there might be seen in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The shepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men appeared on the upland, dark agai

Summer - Edith Wharton
the doorstep. It was the beginning of a June afternoon. The springlike transparent sky shed a rain of silver sunshine on the roofs of the village, and on the pastures and larchwoods surrounding it. A little wind moved among the round white clouds on the shoulders of the hills, driving their shadows across the fields and down the grassy road that takes the name of street when it passes through