Poets of AmericaHoughton Mifflin, 1885 - 516 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 82
7 psl.
... sense that the product of Italy is Italian , or that of France is French . At this dis- tance , we who watch others as we are watched our- selves can readily see that the same causes which make our civilization assume the composite type ...
... sense that the product of Italy is Italian , or that of France is French . At this dis- tance , we who watch others as we are watched our- selves can readily see that the same causes which make our civilization assume the composite type ...
10 psl.
... sense , it is natural for the citizen of so vast and various a country to find his patriotism and his gift of expression respond most easily to the appeals of his own locality . There is still a lagging behind full nationality , just as ...
... sense , it is natural for the citizen of so vast and various a country to find his patriotism and his gift of expression respond most easily to the appeals of his own locality . There is still a lagging behind full nationality , just as ...
13 psl.
... sense of art , to create a lan- guage and literature of their own ; a new land with an old language , a new nation with all the literature and traditions behind it of the country from whose colonies it has sprung . While the thought and ...
... sense of art , to create a lan- guage and literature of their own ; a new land with an old language , a new nation with all the literature and traditions behind it of the country from whose colonies it has sprung . While the thought and ...
16 psl.
... sense of utility was not the sole controlling power . There was a wide man- ifestation of that which bears to pure ideality an in- ferior relationship . Our system diffused the intelli- gence which lifts our people quite above the ...
... sense of utility was not the sole controlling power . There was a wide man- ifestation of that which bears to pure ideality an in- ferior relationship . Our system diffused the intelli- gence which lifts our people quite above the ...
19 psl.
... sense . What there was of the poetic or wondrous in their arduous compelling life had a local range , such as the trials for witchcraft , finely utilized by New England's great romancer , and too inadequately , it must be owned , by her ...
... sense . What there was of the poetic or wondrous in their arduous compelling life had a local range , such as the trials for witchcraft , finely utilized by New England's great romancer , and too inadequately , it must be owned , by her ...
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American anapestic artist ballads bard Bayard Taylor beauty blank-verse Bryant cæsura charm critical Deukalion didacticism distinct Divine Comedy dramatic early effort Emerson England English essays expression fancy feeling genius gift Goethe hand heart hexameter Holmes humor ideal idyl imagination instinct intellectual kind labor land learned Leaves of Grass less letters literary literature Longfellow Lowell Lowell's Margaret Fuller master measure melody ment method metrical modern mood muse native nature never original passion pieces Poe's poems poet poet's poetic poetry prose Puritan Quaker reader rhyme rience romance scarcely seemed sense sentiment song soul spirit stanzas style sure sweet taste Taylor Tennyson Thanatopsis theme Theocritus things thou thought tion torian touch traits translation true truth ture Ulalume verse voice Walt Whitman Whitman Whittier writers written youth
Populiarios ištraukos
388 psl. - THERE was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
355 psl. - I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
162 psl. - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; The conscious stone to beauty grew.
243 psl. - But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave — there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide — As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow — The hours are breathing faint and low — And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
167 psl. - Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file. Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will. Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
118 psl. - A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east ; we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air.
247 psl. - Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away.
243 psl. - Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
167 psl. - DAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
152 psl. - For Nature beats in perfect tune, And rounds with rhyme her every rune, Whether she work in land or sea, Or hide underground her alchemy. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake.