The Poets and Poetry of America: To the Middle of the Nineteenth CenturyA. Hart, 1852 - 550 psl. |
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xiv psl.
... cold " The Dreaming Girl ... .. WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER . A Forest Scene , fron " Yeuncadio " , Day Walk ........ OLIVER WENDELI HOLMES . Wo dwy M blight , from the same A Mock Iadian Fi ht , from the same . Ou ledug a Pun Bow ! An Id an ...
... cold " The Dreaming Girl ... .. WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER . A Forest Scene , fron " Yeuncadio " , Day Walk ........ OLIVER WENDELI HOLMES . Wo dwy M blight , from the same A Mock Iadian Fi ht , from the same . Ou ledug a Pun Bow ! An Id an ...
33 psl.
... Cold , nipping winds your fruits assail ; The blasted apple seeks the ground ; The peaches fall , the cherries fail ; The grape receives a mortal wound . The breeze , that gently ought to blow , Swells to a storm , and rends the main ...
... Cold , nipping winds your fruits assail ; The blasted apple seeks the ground ; The peaches fall , the cherries fail ; The grape receives a mortal wound . The breeze , that gently ought to blow , Swells to a storm , and rends the main ...
48 psl.
... cold mansion of thy slumbering clay . No mild , ethereal gale , with tepid wing , Shall fan thy locks , or waft approaching spring : Unfelt , unknown , shall breathe the rich perfume , And unheard music wave around thy tomb . A cold ...
... cold mansion of thy slumbering clay . No mild , ethereal gale , with tepid wing , Shall fan thy locks , or waft approaching spring : Unfelt , unknown , shall breathe the rich perfume , And unheard music wave around thy tomb . A cold ...
51 psl.
... cold . The cattle fed , the fuel piled within , At setting day the blissful hours begin ; " Tis then , sole owner of his little cot , The farmer feels his independent lot ; Hears , with the crackling blaze that lights the wall , The ...
... cold . The cattle fed , the fuel piled within , At setting day the blissful hours begin ; " Tis then , sole owner of his little cot , The farmer feels his independent lot ; Hears , with the crackling blaze that lights the wall , The ...
52 psl.
... cold heart neglect my kindred race , Let dire destruction seize this guilty frane ! My hands shall perish and niy voice shall cease ! Yet stall the Lord who hears when Zion cails , Oertake her foes web terror and dismay ; His arm avenge ...
... cold heart neglect my kindred race , Let dire destruction seize this guilty frane ! My hands shall perish and niy voice shall cease ! Yet stall the Lord who hears when Zion cails , Oertake her foes web terror and dismay ; His arm avenge ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Poets and Poetry of America To the Middle of the Nineteenth Century Rufus Wilmot Griswold Visos knygos peržiūra - 1852 |
The Poets and Poetry of America To the Middle of the Nineteenth Century ... Rufus Wilmot Griswold Visos knygos peržiūra - 1853 |
The Poets and Poetry of America To the Middle of the Nineteenth Century Rufus Wilmot Griswold Visos knygos peržiūra - 1851 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Battle of Niagara beam beauty beneath bird bless blue born bosom breast breath breeze bright brow charm clouds cold Connecticut dark dead death deep dream earth fair fear feel flowers friends gaze gentle glorious glory glow grace grave green hand Harvard College hast hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour land leaves life's light lips living lonely look look'd lyre morning mountain muse Nashaway ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd Phi Beta Kappa poems poet prayer pride rapture rills Rio Bravo round SAM PATCH scene seem'd seraphs shade shadow shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sublime sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thought throne tomb tree vex'd voice wave wild wind wings woods Yale College youth
Populiarios ištraukos
168 psl. - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ! Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
319 psl. - Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ) Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
364 psl. - AY, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes...
168 psl. - At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.
420 psl. - Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
160 psl. - 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.
419 psl. - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
320 psl. - This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice, That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice...
319 psl. - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
190 psl. - WHEN Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.