The Poets and Poetry of America: To the Middle of the Nineteenth CenturyA. Hart, 1852 - 550 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 100
xxviii psl.
... thee , Glad joy shall sparkle in each trickling tear . Thy great example , too , shall fire my breast ; If Heaven permit , with thee , again I'll vie ; And all thy conduct well in mine express'd , Like thee I'II live , though I like thee ...
... thee , Glad joy shall sparkle in each trickling tear . Thy great example , too , shall fire my breast ; If Heaven permit , with thee , again I'll vie ; And all thy conduct well in mine express'd , Like thee I'II live , though I like thee ...
55 psl.
... thee in Savoy ! Doom'd o'er the world through devious paths to roam , Each clime my country , and each house my home , My soul is soothed , my cares have found an end : I greet my long - lost , unforgotten friend . For thee through ...
... thee in Savoy ! Doom'd o'er the world through devious paths to roam , Each clime my country , and each house my home , My soul is soothed , my cares have found an end : I greet my long - lost , unforgotten friend . For thee through ...
78 psl.
... thee at the midnight hour In bleak November's reign : ' T was I the spell around thee cast , When thou didst hear the hollow blast In murmurs tell of pleasures past , That ne'er would come again : " And led thee , when the storm was o ...
... thee at the midnight hour In bleak November's reign : ' T was I the spell around thee cast , When thou didst hear the hollow blast In murmurs tell of pleasures past , That ne'er would come again : " And led thee , when the storm was o ...
91 psl.
... thee Many an eye with sorrow wet ; All our stricken hearts deplore thee ; Who , that knew thee , can forget ? Who forgot that thou hast spoken ? Who , thine eye , -that noble frame ? But that golden bowl is broken , In the greatness of ...
... thee Many an eye with sorrow wet ; All our stricken hearts deplore thee ; Who , that knew thee , can forget ? Who forgot that thou hast spoken ? Who , thine eye , -that noble frame ? But that golden bowl is broken , In the greatness of ...
92 psl.
... thee . THE SPARKLING BOWL . THOU sparkling bowl ! thou sparkling bowl ! Though lips of bards thy brim may press , And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll , And song and dance thy power confess , I will not touch thee ; for there clings A ...
... thee . THE SPARKLING BOWL . THOU sparkling bowl ! thou sparkling bowl ! Though lips of bards thy brim may press , And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll , And song and dance thy power confess , I will not touch thee ; for there clings A ...
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.