The Chief American PoetsHoughton Mifflin, 1905 - 713 страница |
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Страница 28
... dear ones in the cottage , while so long , Hour after hour , I stay without ? I know That they will seek me far and near , and weep To find me not . How could I , wickedly , Neglect the charge they gave me ? ' As she spoke , The hot ...
... dear ones in the cottage , while so long , Hour after hour , I stay without ? I know That they will seek me far and near , and weep To find me not . How could I , wickedly , Neglect the charge they gave me ? ' As she spoke , The hot ...
Страница 32
... dear eyes , The darkness slowly gathers , And the loved and loving dies . A grave is scooped on the hillside Where often , at eve or morn , He lays the blooms of the garden - He , and his youngest born . And well I know that a ...
... dear eyes , The darkness slowly gathers , And the loved and loving dies . A grave is scooped on the hillside Where often , at eve or morn , He lays the blooms of the garden - He , and his youngest born . And well I know that a ...
Страница 34
... dear brows , by loving hands , and scrolls O'erwritten , haply with fond words of love And vows of friendship , and fair pages flung Fresh from the printer's engine . There they lie A moment , and then sink away from sight . I look ...
... dear brows , by loving hands , and scrolls O'erwritten , haply with fond words of love And vows of friendship , and fair pages flung Fresh from the printer's engine . There they lie A moment , and then sink away from sight . I look ...
Страница 43
... dear , hast thou no fear 2 Why and what art thou dreaming here ? Sure thou art come o'er far - off seas , A wonder to these garden trees ! Strange is thy pallor ! strange thy dress ! Strange , above all , thy length of tress , And this ...
... dear , hast thou no fear 2 Why and what art thou dreaming here ? Sure thou art come o'er far - off seas , A wonder to these garden trees ! Strange is thy pallor ! strange thy dress ! Strange , above all , thy length of tress , And this ...
Страница 44
... dear child That should have been thy bride- For her , the fair And debonair , That now so lowly lies- The life still there Upon her hair , The death upon her eyes . Avaunt ! -to - night My heart is light- No dirge will I upraise , But ...
... dear child That should have been thy bride- For her , the fair And debonair , That now so lowly lies- The life still there Upon her hair , The death upon her eyes . Avaunt ! -to - night My heart is light- No dirge will I upraise , But ...
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beauty bells beneath birds breath cloud dark dead dear death dream earth Edgar Allan Poe edition Emerson eyes face fair father feel feet flowers forest gleam golden grave gray green hand hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hiawatha hills James Russell Lowell John Greenleaf Whittier Kenabeek land laugh leaves Leaves of Grass light lips living Longfellow look Lowell maiden meadow Mondamin morning mountain never night Nokomis o'er Oliver Wendell Holmes Pau-Puk-Keewis poem poet prayer Ralph Waldo Emerson river rose round sail seemed shadow shining shore Sidney Lanier silent sing smile snow song soul sound Specimen Days spirit stars stood strong summer sweet thee thet thine things thou thought trees verse voice Walt Whitman wandering waves Whittier wigwam wild wind woods words young
Популарни одломци
Страница 155 - Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with th.ee.
Страница 1 - The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there...
Страница 108 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Страница 238 - It was two by the village clock When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown.
Страница 63 - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die,...
Страница 115 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Страница 1 - Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre.
Страница 313 - Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Страница 461 - This water His blood that died on the tree ; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need: Not what we give, but what we share, — For the gift without the giver is bare ; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.
Страница 238 - It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town.