The Book of Living Poets

Priekinis viršelis
Walter Jerrold
A. Rivers, Limited, 1907 - 375 psl.
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295 psl. - For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins ; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins ; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
223 psl. - ... Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago." Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum, An' dreamin' arl the time o
137 psl. - An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for...
227 psl. - ... them and they answer: from aisles of oak and ash Rings the Follow! Follow! and the boughs begin to crash; The ferns begin to flutter and the flowers begin to fly; And through the crimson dawning the robber band goes by. Robin! Robin!
185 psl. - Arrtifex ! That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip, An' by that light — now, mark my word — we'll build the Perfect Ship. I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curve — not I. But I ha' lived an' I ha
285 psl. - WHEN I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine : Such life my heart remembers In all as wild Septembers As this when life seems other, Though sweet, than once was mine ; When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine.
136 psl. - THE DARKLING THRUSH I LEANT upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse...
201 psl. - Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright ; But it must never, never come in sight ; I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
222 psl. - Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below ?) Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time o
290 psl. - A FORSAKEN GARDEN In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, Walled round with rocks as an inland island, The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.

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