The Chief American PoetsHoughton Mifflin, 1905 - 713 psl. |
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... trees Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend To the soft winds , the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene . Scarce less the cleft - born wild - flower seems to enjoy Existence , than the wingèd plunderer ...
... trees Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend To the soft winds , the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene . Scarce less the cleft - born wild - flower seems to enjoy Existence , than the wingèd plunderer ...
5 psl.
... trees , lay visible Through the bare grove , and my familiar haunts Seemed new to me . Nor was I slow to come Among ... tree The squirrel was abroad , gathering the nuts Just fallen , that asked the winter cold and sway WILLIAM CULLEN ...
... trees , lay visible Through the bare grove , and my familiar haunts Seemed new to me . Nor was I slow to come Among ... tree The squirrel was abroad , gathering the nuts Just fallen , that asked the winter cold and sway WILLIAM CULLEN ...
6 psl.
... trees with ice , While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light . Approach ! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps , And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering . Look ! the massy ...
... trees with ice , While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light . Approach ! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps , And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering . Look ! the massy ...
10 psl.
... trees , and pinnacles of flint , And many a hanging crag . But , to the east , Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs Huge pillars , that in middle heaven up- bear 30 Their weather - beaten capitals , here dark With moss , the ...
... trees , and pinnacles of flint , And many a hanging crag . But , to the east , Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs Huge pillars , that in middle heaven up- bear 30 Their weather - beaten capitals , here dark With moss , the ...
11 psl.
... trees , And her own dwelling , and the cabin roof Of him she loved with an unlawful love , And came to die for , a warm gush of tears Ran from her eyes . But when the sun grew low 121 And the hill shadows long , she threw herself From ...
... trees , And her own dwelling , and the cabin roof Of him she loved with an unlawful love , And came to die for , a warm gush of tears Ran from her eyes . But when the sun grew low 121 And the hill shadows long , she threw herself From ...
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Chief American Poets– Selected Poems by Bryant, Poe, Emerson, Longfellow ... Curtis Hidden Page Visos knygos peržiūra - 1905 |
The Chief American Poets– Selected Poems by Bryant, Poe, Emerson, Longfellow ... Curtis Hidden Page Visos knygos peržiūra - 1905 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
beauty bells beneath birds breath cloud dark dead dear death dream earth Edgar Allan Poe edition Emerson eyes face fair father feel feet flowers forest gleam golden grave gray green hand hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hiawatha hills James Russell Lowell John Greenleaf Whittier Kenabeek land laugh leaves Leaves of Grass light lips living Longfellow look Lowell maiden meadow Mondamin morning mountain never night Nokomis o'er Oliver Wendell Holmes Pau-Puk-Keewis poem poet prayer Ralph Waldo Emerson river rose round sail seemed shadow shining shore Sidney Lanier silent sing smile snow song soul sound Specimen Days spirit stars stood strong summer sweet thee thet thine things thou thought trees verse voice Walt Whitman wandering waves Whittier wigwam wild wind woods words young
Populiarios ištraukos
155 psl. - Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with th.ee.
1 psl. - The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there...
108 psl. - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
238 psl. - It was two by the village clock When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown.
63 psl. - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die,...
115 psl. - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
1 psl. - 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.
313 psl. - Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
461 psl. - This water His blood that died on the tree ; 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.
238 psl. - It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town.