The Chief American PoetsHoughton Mifflin, 1905 - 713 страница |
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Страница 11
... tell the sorrowful tale , and to this day The mountain where the hapless maiden died Is called the Mountain of the Monument . 1824 . AUTUMN WOODS ERE , in the northern gale , 1824 . The summer tresses of the trees are gone , The woods ...
... tell the sorrowful tale , and to this day The mountain where the hapless maiden died Is called the Mountain of the Monument . 1824 . AUTUMN WOODS ERE , in the northern gale , 1824 . The summer tresses of the trees are gone , The woods ...
Страница 14
... tell His love - tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there , and there be heard The housewife bee and humming - bird . And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come , from the village sent , Or songs of maids ...
... tell His love - tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there , and there be heard The housewife bee and humming - bird . And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come , from the village sent , Or songs of maids ...
Страница 23
... telling his name : Bob - o ' - link , bob - o ' - link , Spink , spank , spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours ... tell what the great - grandchildren of ours will think about that they sprang up of themselves by the way . ' Robert ...
... telling his name : Bob - o ' - link , bob - o ' - link , Spink , spank , spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours ... tell what the great - grandchildren of ours will think about that they sprang up of themselves by the way . ' Robert ...
Страница 30
... tell of battles — make thyself a part Of the great tumult ; cling To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart ; Scale , with the assaulting host , the ram- part's height , And strike and struggle in the thickest fight . MY AUTUMN WALK ...
... tell of battles — make thyself a part Of the great tumult ; cling To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart ; Scale , with the assaulting host , the ram- part's height , And strike and struggle in the thickest fight . MY AUTUMN WALK ...
Страница 37
... telling Of human battle , where my voice , My own voice , silly child ! ling 50 -was swel- ( O ! how my spirit would rejoice ... tell The loveliness of loving well ! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose ...
... telling Of human battle , where my voice , My own voice , silly child ! ling 50 -was swel- ( O ! how my spirit would rejoice ... tell The loveliness of loving well ! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose ...
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Друга издања - Прикажи све
Чести термини и фразе
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.