Poets of the South: A Series of Biographical and Critical Studies with Typical Poems, AnnotatedAmerican Book Company, 1903 - 237 psl. |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Poets of the South– A Series of Biographical and Critical Studies with ... Franklin Verzelius Newton Painter Visos knygos peržiūra - 1903 |
Poets of the South– A Series of Biographical and Critical Studies with ... Franklin Verzelius Newton Painter Visos knygos peržiūra - 1903 |
Poets of the South– A Series of Biographical and Critical Studies with ... Franklin Verzelius Newton Painter Visos knygos peržiūra - 1903 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Al Aaraaf angels Annabel Lee artistic beauty bird brave breathe bright Charleston clouds Copse Hill dark dead death deep dream earth EDGAR ALLAN POE EDWARD COATE PINKNEY eyes fame Father Ryan Florence Vane flowers Furl gates of sleep gaunt band genius gifts gleam grave hath Hayne's heart heaven Henry Timrod hills of Habersham holy hope land Lanier leaves Lenore light literature Little Giffen lone lyric marsh melody moral Nature never Nevermore night noble o'er passion Paul Hamilton Hayne pine Poe's poem poet poet's poetic poetry published Raven rhyme Russell's Magazine says seems Sentinel Songs shine sigh silence singer sketch sleep song sonnet sorrow soul South Southern Literary Messenger spirit stanza star-spangled banner stars stirred sweet sword tears thee thine thou thought tree truth valleys of Hall verse Virginia voice volume wave weary words
Populiarios ištraukos
163 psl. - thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore !
160 psl. - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
158 psl. - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.
152 psl. - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
155 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.
154 psl. - In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace— Radiant palace— reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there; Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.
19 psl. - I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, Tis less of earth than heaven.
139 psl. - The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo ; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards with solemn round The bivouac of the dead.
121 psl. - Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there: O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
157 psl. - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and. curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.