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Страница 22 - Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by— The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban;— Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road...
Страница 6 - The baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that 'this is I :' But as he grows he gathers much, And learns the use of 'I,' and 'me,' And finds 'I am not what I see, And other than the things I touch.
Страница 22 - Wise, foolish — so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban ? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
Страница 15 - THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Страница 16 - Unfading as motionless, the worm frets them not, and the autumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither blanch in heat nor pine in frost. To them, slow-fingered, constant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal tapestries of the hills ; to them, slowpencilled, iris-dyed, the tender framing of their endless imagery.
Страница 21 - FOSS. ("He was a friend to man, and he lived in a house by the side of the road." — Homer.) There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament ; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where the highways never ran — But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
Страница 16 - ... the tender framing of their endless imagery. Sharing the stillness of the unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance ; and while the winds of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its cowslip gold, — far above, among the mountains, the silver lichen spots rest, star-like, on the stone : and the gathering orange stain, upon the edge of yonder western peak, reflects the sunsets of a thousand years.
Страница 5 - Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children's children rode on his...
Страница 22 - Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by— They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish — so am I.