The Poets and Poetry of America: To the Middle of the Nineteenth CenturyA. Hart, 1852 - 550 psl. |
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10 psl.
... dead Leaves strew the Forest Walk " . The Storm of War ... Hymn to the North Star .. 161 The Guerilla ... Dead of 1832 .. .167 The Old Man's Counsel .. 168 Parting こ-2.5 An Evening Reverie , from an unfinished Poem . .168 Concesion of ...
... dead Leaves strew the Forest Walk " . The Storm of War ... Hymn to the North Star .. 161 The Guerilla ... Dead of 1832 .. .167 The Old Man's Counsel .. 168 Parting こ-2.5 An Evening Reverie , from an unfinished Poem . .168 Concesion of ...
12 psl.
... Dead . The New England Pilgrim's Funeral .. The Son of God A Recolita tion Fathanasm My Nat se Villve Ar Lavitation .. The 1. Iam Sumner The Barisi Place Te Bud Restored to Sight ... A Contrast Two opacts ...... JONATHAN LAWPFNCE Taught ...
... Dead . The New England Pilgrim's Funeral .. The Son of God A Recolita tion Fathanasm My Nat se Villve Ar Lavitation .. The 1. Iam Sumner The Barisi Place Te Bud Restored to Sight ... A Contrast Two opacts ...... JONATHAN LAWPFNCE Taught ...
xxii psl.
... dead for many years . Our NEHEMIAHI said , " shall such as I Desert my flock , and like a coward fly ! " Long had the churches begg'd the saint's release ; Released at last , he dies in glorious peace . The night is not so long , but ...
... dead for many years . Our NEHEMIAHI said , " shall such as I Desert my flock , and like a coward fly ! " Long had the churches begg'd the saint's release ; Released at last , he dies in glorious peace . The night is not so long , but ...
32 psl.
... dead are cast : - Ye solemn train , prepare the funeral song , For I must go to shades below , Where all is strange and all is new ; Companion to the airy throng ! - What solitary streams , In dull and dreary dreams , All melancholy ...
... dead are cast : - Ye solemn train , prepare the funeral song , For I must go to shades below , Where all is strange and all is new ; Companion to the airy throng ! - What solitary streams , In dull and dreary dreams , All melancholy ...
52 psl.
... dead . The tuneful harp that once with joy we strurg Wieu raise employd and burth inspired the lay , In mournfuis Unce on the willows hung , And growing guef prolong'i the tedious day . Our proud oppressors , to increase our wo , With ...
... dead . The tuneful harp that once with joy we strurg Wieu raise employd and burth inspired the lay , In mournfuis Unce on the willows hung , And growing guef prolong'i the tedious day . Our proud oppressors , to increase our wo , With ...
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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 |
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amid art thou beam beauty beneath bird bless born bosom breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek clouds cold coursers dark dead death deep didst dream earth evermore fair fear feel flowers friends gaze gentle gleam glorious glory glow grace grave green hand Harvard College hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour land leaves life's light lips living lonely look lyre morning mountain muse Nashaway ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd Phi Beta Kappa poems poet prayer rapture rills Rio Bravo round SAM PATCH scene seem'd seraphs shade shadows shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sublime sweet Sylph tears tempest thee thine thou art thought throne tomb tree 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.