The Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell: With IllustrationsHoughton, Mifflin, 1891 - 507 страница |
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... night to see Nothing but the blood - red moon Go up and down into the sea ; Or , in the loneliness of day , To see the still seals only Solemnly lift their faces gray , Making it yet more lonely ? Is it not better than to hear Only the ...
... night to see Nothing but the blood - red moon Go up and down into the sea ; Or , in the loneliness of day , To see the still seals only Solemnly lift their faces gray , Making it yet more lonely ? Is it not better than to hear Only the ...
Страница 3
... night , I look into the fathomless blue skies . So circled lives she with Love's holy light , That from the shade of self she walketh free ; The garden of her soul still keepeth she An Eden where the snake did never enter ; She hath a ...
... night , I look into the fathomless blue skies . So circled lives she with Love's holy light , That from the shade of self she walketh free ; The garden of her soul still keepeth she An Eden where the snake did never enter ; She hath a ...
Страница 4
... night is chilly , the night is dark , The poplars shiver , the pine - trees moan , My hair by the autumn breeze is blown , Under thy window I sing alone , Alone , alone , ah woe ! alone ! The darkness is pressing coldly around , The ...
... night is chilly , the night is dark , The poplars shiver , the pine - trees moan , My hair by the autumn breeze is blown , Under thy window I sing alone , Alone , alone , ah woe ! alone ! The darkness is pressing coldly around , The ...
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... night Rude tempest - shock and withering blight , That I may keep at bay MY LOVE . I. NOT as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear ; Her glorious fancies come from far , Beneath the silver evening - star , And yet her heart ...
... night Rude tempest - shock and withering blight , That I may keep at bay MY LOVE . I. NOT as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear ; Her glorious fancies come from far , Beneath the silver evening - star , And yet her heart ...
Страница 8
... night Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; A love that gives and takes , that seeth faults , Not with flaw - seeking eyes like needle points , But loving - kindly ever looks them down With the o'ercoming faith that still forgives ; A ...
... night Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; A love that gives and takes , that seeth faults , Not with flaw - seeking eyes like needle points , But loving - kindly ever looks them down With the o'ercoming faith that still forgives ; A ...
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afore agin ain't aint airth arter Auf wiedersehen beauty bein Ben Jonson Biglow bobolink brain Caleb Cushing Clotho dark dear deep divine doth dream ears earth England eyes faith fancy feel feller folks fust give God's gret hand hath hear heart heaven heerd hope idee Jaalam John ketch kind larn leaves letters light lives long ez look mind Muse nature neath never nigger night nothin o'er ollers once poet poor preterite rhyme round Sawin sech seemed silent sing Sir Launfal slavery song soul spiles spirit sunshine sure sweet tell thee there's thet thet's thine things thou thought thout thru tion tree truth turn twixt verse warn't Wilbur wind word wun't Yankee
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Страница 69 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Страница 107 - The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world and she to her nest,— In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Страница 107 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Страница 111 - As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, A light shone round about the place ; The leper no longer crouched at his side, But stood before him glorified, Shining and tall and fair and straight As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — Himself the Gate whereby men can Enter the temple of God in Man.
Страница 107 - The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace...
Страница 68 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side...
Страница 109 - Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hilltop bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek. It carried a shiver everywhere From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; All night by the white stars...
Страница 400 - Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. I praise him not ; it were too late ; And some innative weakness there must be In him who condescends to victory Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, Safe in himself as in a fate. So always firmly he : He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide, Still patient in his simple faith sublime, Till the wise years decide.
Страница 111 - 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 110 - But the wind without was eager and sharp, Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, And rattles and wrings The icy strings, Singing, in dreary monotone, A Christmas carol of its own, Whose burden still, as he might guess, Was — "Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, And he sat in the gateway and saw all night The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, Through the window-slits of the castle old, Build...