Poetry, 14 tomas

Priekinis viršelis
Harriet Monroe
Modern Poetry Association, 1919
0 Apžvalgos
Atsiliepimai nepatvirtinti, bet „Google“ ieško netikro turinio ir jį šalina, jei jis aptinkamas

Ką žmonės sako - Rašyti recenziją

Neradome recenzijų įprastose vietose.

Pasirinkti puslapiai

Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską

Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės

Populiarios ištraukos

151 psl. - ... died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift blazing flag of the regiment, Eagle with crest of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die. Point for them the virtue of slaughter, Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie. Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind. 77 "What says the sea, little shell? What says the sea? Long has our brother been silent to us, Kept his message for the...
294 psl. - Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten for ever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old. If anyone asks, say it was forgotten Long and long ago, As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall In a long forgotten snow.
68 psl. - ... We were very tired, we were very merry — We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
108 psl. - Underneath all, individuals, I swear nothing is good to me now that ignores individuals, The American compact is altogether with individuals, The only government is that which makes minute of individuals, The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual — namely to You.
151 psl. - Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die. The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind.
92 psl. - Of all nations the United States with veins full of poetical stuff most need poets and will doubtless have the greatest and use them the greatest. Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall.
112 psl. - Couvrent vite mon front moulé sous son linceul , Je ne veux de vos bruits qu'un souffle dans la brise, Un nom inachevé dans un cœur qui...
292 psl. - THE LONG HILL I must have passed the crest a while ago And now I am going down — Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know, But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown. All the morning I thought how proud I should be To stand there straight as a queen, Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me — But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen. It was nearly level along the beaten track And the brambles caught in my gown — But...
91 psl. - 55, lost my dear father this year by death. Commenced putting "Leaves of Grass" to press for good, at the job printing office of my friends, the brothers Rome, in Brooklyn, after many MS. doings and undoings — (I had great trouble in leaving out the stock "poetical" touches, but succeeded at last.) I am now (1856-'7) passing through my 37th year.
93 psl. - The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Bibliografinė informacija