The New Era in American PoetryH. Holt, 1919 - 364 страница For contents, see Author Catalog. |
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American poetry Amy Lowell Anthology artist beauty begins beneath Benét blood Chicago Poems color critics dark dead death delicate dream earth echoes Edgar Lee Masters eloquent expression eyes face flowers fresh Frost give golden H. L. MENCKEN hand heart heaven Henry Holt idiom Imagists irony James Oppenheim Jesus John Gould Fletcher laugh less light Lindsay Lindsay's lines literary living Louis Untermeyer loveliness lover Lowell's lyric Macmillan Masters merely Miss Lowell mood moon Mountain Interval never night Oppenheim passion picture poems poet poetic prose rhymed Robinson Sandburg Sara Teasdale seems silence singing sleep song soul sound speech spirit Spoon River Spoon River Anthology stars strange street T. S. Eliot thee things thou thought tion title-poem trees turn verse vigor voice volume Wheelock Whitman wind woman words write
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Страница 116 - WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich— yes, richer than a king— And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we...
Страница 271 - All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.
Страница 339 - Eve, with her basket, was Deep in the bells and grass, Wading in bells and grass Up to her knees, Picking a dish of sweet Berries and plums to eat, Down in the bells and grass Under the trees. Mute as a mouse in a Corner the cobra lay, Curled round a bough of the Cinnamon tall. . . . Now to get even and Humble proud heaven and Now was the moment or Never at all. "Eva!
Страница 32 - To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be.
Страница 95 - In these days poetry is usually a flower of evil or good, but it is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
Страница 106 - PRAYERS OF STEEL Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls; Let me lift and loosen old foundations. Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike. Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together. Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders. Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars.
Страница 165 - THE HILL Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley, The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter? All, all, are sleeping on the hill. One passed in a fever, One was burned in a mine, One was killed in a brawl, One died in a jail, One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife — All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.
Страница 23 - MENDING WALL Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it And spills the upper boulders in the sun, And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
Страница 273 - That gaunt crag To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! Long have I known a glory in it all, But never knew I this; Here such a passion is As stretcheth me apart,— Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year; My soul is all but out of me,— let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Страница 82 - Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room, Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom...