Poems by William Cullen BryantCarey and Hart, 1849 - 378 psl. |
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34 psl.
... years , matron , and maid , And the sweet babe , and the gray - headed man , Shall one by one be gathered to thy side , By those , who in their turn shall follow them . So live , that when thy summons comes to join 34 POEMS .
... years , matron , and maid , And the sweet babe , and the gray - headed man , Shall one by one be gathered to thy side , By those , who in their turn shall follow them . So live , that when thy summons comes to join 34 POEMS .
46 psl.
... gather simples by the fountain's brink , And lose myself in day - dreams . While I stood In nature's loneliness , I was with one With whom I early grew familiar , one Who never had a frown for me , whose voice Never rebuked me for the ...
... gather simples by the fountain's brink , And lose myself in day - dreams . While I stood In nature's loneliness , I was with one With whom I early grew familiar , one Who never had a frown for me , whose voice Never rebuked me for the ...
48 psl.
... gathering the nuts Just fallen , that asked the winter cold and sway Of winter blast , to shake them from their hold . But Winter has yet brighter scenes , he boasts Splendours beyond what gorgeous Summer knows ; Or Autumn with his ...
... gathering the nuts Just fallen , that asked the winter cold and sway Of winter blast , to shake them from their hold . But Winter has yet brighter scenes , he boasts Splendours beyond what gorgeous Summer knows ; Or Autumn with his ...
50 psl.
... gathered in with brimming pails , and oft , Wielded by sturdy hands , the stroke of axe Makes the woods ring . Along the quiet air , Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds , Such as you see in summer , and the winds Scarce stir ...
... gathered in with brimming pails , and oft , Wielded by sturdy hands , the stroke of axe Makes the woods ring . Along the quiet air , Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds , Such as you see in summer , and the winds Scarce stir ...
63 psl.
... ; thou dost break Sceptre and crown , and beat his throne to dust . Then the earth shouts with gladness , and her tribes Gather within their ancient bounds again . Else had the mighty of the olden time , Nimrod HYMN TO DEATH . 63.
... ; thou dost break Sceptre and crown , and beat his throne to dust . Then the earth shouts with gladness , and her tribes Gather within their ancient bounds again . Else had the mighty of the olden time , Nimrod HYMN TO DEATH . 63.
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amid beauty behold beneath bird blood bloom blossoms blue boughs breath bright brook brow calm city spires clouds cold dark day-dawn dead Deadly assassin death deep deer dwell earth EARTH'S CHILDREN eyes fair flowers forest gaze gentle glad glen glide glittering glorious glory grass grave Greece green groves hand hear heart heaven hills hour hymn insect wings land leaves light look lovers walk maid maiden maize Maquon mighty mighty heart mingled morning mountain murmur night o'er Oh father pass pleasant red ruler rest rill Rizpah rocks round savannas shade shine shore sight silent skies sleep smile soft song sound spirit spring Stockbridge stream summer sweet swell tears thee thine thou thou art thou dost thou hast thou shalt trees tulip-tree vale voice wandering warrior watch waters weep wild wind-flower winds wings woods youth
Populiarios ištraukos
41 psl. - WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way...
32 psl. - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And gentle sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.
340 psl. - When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee. They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.
207 psl. - God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the...
219 psl. - Of these fair solitudes once stir with life And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds That overlook the rivers, or that rise In the dim forest crowded with old oaks, Answer. A race, that long has passed away, Built them; - a disciplined and populous race Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock The glittering Parthenon.
153 psl. - THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
132 psl. - ... breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does.
218 psl. - These are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful. For which the speech of England has no name The Prairies.
34 psl. - 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 ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep the dead reign there alone.
32 psl. - Yet a few days and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image.