Modern British PoetryLouis Untermeyer Harcourt, Brace, 1920 - 234 страница |
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Страница 10
... nightingale has a lyre of gold , The lark's is a clarion call , And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute , But I love him best of all . For his song is all of the joy of life 10 William Ernest Henley Invictus ΙΟ The Blackbird ΤΟ.
... nightingale has a lyre of gold , The lark's is a clarion call , And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute , But I love him best of all . For his song is all of the joy of life 10 William Ernest Henley Invictus ΙΟ The Blackbird ΤΟ.
Страница 21
... gold Changed to a harmony in grey ; A barge with ochre - coloured hay Dropt from the wharf : and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges , till the houses ' walls Seemed changed to shadows , and St. Paul's Loomed ...
... gold Changed to a harmony in grey ; A barge with ochre - coloured hay Dropt from the wharf : and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges , till the houses ' walls Seemed changed to shadows , and St. Paul's Loomed ...
Страница 63
... of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold , Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold ; And the first rude sketch that the world had seen 63 Rudyard Kipling The Conundrum of the Workshops.
... of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold , Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold ; And the first rude sketch that the world had seen 63 Rudyard Kipling The Conundrum of the Workshops.
Страница 65
... gold , The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mold- They scratch with their pens in the mold of their graves , and the ink and the anguish start When the Devil mutters behind the leaves : ( ( It's pretty , but ...
... gold , The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mold- They scratch with their pens in the mold of their graves , and the ink and the anguish start When the Devil mutters behind the leaves : ( ( It's pretty , but ...
Страница 66
... gold ! What chariots , what horses Against us shall bide While the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side ? All thought , all desires , That are under the sun , Are one with their fires , As we also are one : All matter , all ...
... gold ! What chariots , what horses Against us shall bide While the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side ? All thought , all desires , That are under the sun , Are one with their fires , As we also are one : All matter , all ...
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Ballads beauty birds blue born break breath Celtic revival cold dark dawn dead dear death delight Don John dream Dublin dust earth England English eyes F. S. Flint face feet fire flame flower G. K. Chesterton glow gold golden grass green grey Gunga Gunga Din guns hand hear heart heaven hills Il Trovatore Irish John Masefield John of Austria Kew in lilac-time land Lascelles Abercrombie light listens living London lonely look lover Masefield merry moon morn never night passion peace poems poet poetry prose published Ralph Hodgson Robert Nichols Robin rose Rupert Brooke Sassoon Sherwood shining ships sigh silence sing sinks low Sitwell song soul stars stir stone strange sun sinks low sunset sweet thee There's things trees verse voice volume wild Wilfrid Wilson Gibson wind wonder wood Yeats
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Страница 16 - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Страница 40 - Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
Страница 53 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full...
Страница 160 - Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London! ) And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!
Страница 39 - Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down. Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.
Страница 178 - THE OLD SHIPS I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep Beyond the village which men still call Tyre, With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep For Famagusta and the hidden sun That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire; And all those ships were certainly so old — Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun, Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges, The pirate Genoese Hell-raked them till they rolled Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold. But now through friendly seas they softly run, Painted...
Страница 101 - In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Страница 111 - Crusade. Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far, Don John of Austria is going to the war, Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold, Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums, Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.
Страница 107 - Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.
Страница 10 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.