Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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10 psl.
... gleaming through the larches , And here , like dim cathedral aisles , The gloom of beechen arches ; The heather grows on every bank , the wild - rose on its thorn ; The woodbines o'er the dusky gean their golden garlands fling ; And ...
... gleaming through the larches , And here , like dim cathedral aisles , The gloom of beechen arches ; The heather grows on every bank , the wild - rose on its thorn ; The woodbines o'er the dusky gean their golden garlands fling ; And ...
16 psl.
... gleaming . Cold and tempestuous ocean , Ragged rock , brine - swept , and lonely , Grasp of the long bitter winter , These things to gladden me only ! CELIA THAXTER . DECEMBER . 17 DECEMBER . WHITE are the fields , 16 POETIC READER .
... gleaming . Cold and tempestuous ocean , Ragged rock , brine - swept , and lonely , Grasp of the long bitter winter , These things to gladden me only ! CELIA THAXTER . DECEMBER . 17 DECEMBER . WHITE are the fields , 16 POETIC READER .
35 psl.
... gleaming whitely through the night ! Oh , the heaps of mangled corses in that dim sepulchral light ! One by one the pale stars faded , and at length the morning broke ; But not one of all the sleepers on that field of death awoke ...
... gleaming whitely through the night ! Oh , the heaps of mangled corses in that dim sepulchral light ! One by one the pale stars faded , and at length the morning broke ; But not one of all the sleepers on that field of death awoke ...
39 psl.
... , And a Samson in every limb . Ho ! stand from that narrow path of his , Lest his gleaming muscles smite , Like the flaming sword the archangel drew When Eden lay wrapp'd in night ; For he cares , not he , for a paltry.
... , And a Samson in every limb . Ho ! stand from that narrow path of his , Lest his gleaming muscles smite , Like the flaming sword the archangel drew When Eden lay wrapp'd in night ; For he cares , not he , for a paltry.
84 psl.
... gleaming , The brook is brown in its bed , Rain from the cloud is streaming , And the bow bends overhead : The charm of the Winter is broken ! the last of the spell is said ! SPRING SONG . Out of the east one morning The 84 POETIC ...
... gleaming , The brook is brown in its bed , Rain from the cloud is streaming , And the bow bends overhead : The charm of the Winter is broken ! the last of the spell is said ! SPRING SONG . Out of the east one morning The 84 POETIC ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alcinous ALICE CARY beauty bells beneath Bill bird blow brave breath bright CELIA THAXTER CHARLES WARREN STODDARD cloud crimson dark dark waves dead dream earth EMMA LAZARUS eyes face fair flowers Frankie Gallop gaze Glad song gleam glides gold golden GRANDPÈRE green grow Haco hand Hark hath head heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER labour LAING PURVES land light little Wren look maidens merry mighty morning murmur Nausicaa nest night o'er peace Pilgrim PILGRIM FATHERS Poems proud rain roar ROBERT BUCHANAN rocks round rush sail shining shore shout showers sight sing smile soft softly song soul sound Spring star steed storm stream summer summers rolled sweet thee thou thro thrush tossed trees Twas voice waters waters dividing waves are free weary wide waves wild wind wings Winter woods yellow
Populiarios ištraukos
207 psl. - The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
207 psl. - The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
104 psl. - Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race.
80 psl. - The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
208 psl. - My grandmamma has said Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do...
80 psl. - The Pilgrim exile sainted name ! The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now ; And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; But the Pilgrim where is he ? 4.
32 psl. - HARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum, Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed, " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemnsounding drum.
79 psl. - THE Pilgrim Fathers where are they? The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, When the Mayflower moored below, When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow.
223 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
33 psl. - Thus they answered, hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, " My chosen people, come ! " Then the drum, Lo ! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, " Lord, we come !