American PoetryPercy Holmes Boynton, Howard Mumford Jones, George Sherburn, Frank Martindale Webster C. Scribner's sons, 1918 - 721 страница |
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Страница 14
... breath , nor driery clouds Exhal'd from Styx , their dismal drops distil Within these Fairy , flowry fields , nor shrouds The screeching night Raven , with his shady quill : But Lyrick strings here Orpheus nimbly hitts , Orion on his ...
... breath , nor driery clouds Exhal'd from Styx , their dismal drops distil Within these Fairy , flowry fields , nor shrouds The screeching night Raven , with his shady quill : But Lyrick strings here Orpheus nimbly hitts , Orion on his ...
Страница 16
... breath , nor driery clouds Exhal'd from Styx , their dismal drops distil Within these Fairy , flowry fields , nor shrouds The screeching night Raven , with his shady quill : But Lyrick strings here Orpheus nimbly hitts , Orion on his ...
... breath , nor driery clouds Exhal'd from Styx , their dismal drops distil Within these Fairy , flowry fields , nor shrouds The screeching night Raven , with his shady quill : But Lyrick strings here Orpheus nimbly hitts , Orion on his ...
Страница 18
... breath , In New , effus'd his last : O ther beneath His corps are laid , near to his darling brother Of whom dead oft he sigh'd , Not such another . Heaven is the more desirable , said he , 30 For Hooker , Shepard , and Haynes's com ...
... breath , In New , effus'd his last : O ther beneath His corps are laid , near to his darling brother Of whom dead oft he sigh'd , Not such another . Heaven is the more desirable , said he , 30 For Hooker , Shepard , and Haynes's com ...
Страница 28
... Breath , Nor anxious tremble at th ' Approach of Death ; Which shall ( I hope ) but strip me of my Clay , And to a better World my Soul convey . 330 Thus musing , I my silent Moments spend , Till to the River's Margin I descend . From ...
... Breath , Nor anxious tremble at th ' Approach of Death ; Which shall ( I hope ) but strip me of my Clay , And to a better World my Soul convey . 330 Thus musing , I my silent Moments spend , Till to the River's Margin I descend . From ...
Страница 29
... Breath , Tomorrow doom'd a Prey to ruthless Death ! Tremendous God ! may I not justly fear , 350 That I , unworthy Object of thy Care , Into this World from thy bright Presence tost , Am in th ' Immensity of Nature lost ! And that my ...
... Breath , Tomorrow doom'd a Prey to ruthless Death ! Tremendous God ! may I not justly fear , 350 That I , unworthy Object of thy Care , Into this World from thy bright Presence tost , Am in th ' Immensity of Nature lost ! And that my ...
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Anne Bradstreet arms Atlantic Monthly Auf wiedersehen beauty beneath birds brave breast breath bright Brown clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fear fight fire flame flowers forest friends gleam glory golden Graham's Magazine grave green hand hath hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha hills John Brown's body King land laugh leaves light live look Lord Maryland mighty Mondamin moon morning Muse never night Nokomis o'er Osawatomie Paul Hamilton Hayne peace Philip Freneau poem poet river round sail shade shadow shine shore Sigrid the Haughty silent sing Sir Launfal skies sleep smile snow song soul sound spirit stars stood strong sweet sword tell thee thet thine things thou thought trees verse voice W. D. Howells waves wigwam wild wind wings wonder woods words young youth
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Страница 431 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Страница 535 - Rise up— for you the flag is flung— for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths— for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,...
Страница 167 - 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 167 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Страница 234 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Страница 431 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!
Страница 330 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword : His truth is marching on.
Страница 195 - May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its...
Страница 254 - BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican.
Страница 235 - In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling...