Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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5 psl.
... lands of a hundred kings , - We pass them by on triumphant wings ; We o'erlook them all from our skiey bow'rs , Our wings are free and the world is ours ! J. LOGIE ROBERTSON . THE WATER - FAIRY . EACH reed that grows in Our stream is ...
... lands of a hundred kings , - We pass them by on triumphant wings ; We o'erlook them all from our skiey bow'rs , Our wings are free and the world is ours ! J. LOGIE ROBERTSON . THE WATER - FAIRY . EACH reed that grows in Our stream is ...
9 psl.
... land , and bless where'er they fall ; Keep every day like summer gay , for yellow Autumn's glowing , For happy hearts have summer aye , and sunshine over all . Then merry all - go merrily , And happy foot go free , With laughter ringing ...
... land , and bless where'er they fall ; Keep every day like summer gay , for yellow Autumn's glowing , For happy hearts have summer aye , and sunshine over all . Then merry all - go merrily , And happy foot go free , With laughter ringing ...
10 psl.
... - radiant hand ; Her mantle fold of green and gold is floating round her rarely ; We'll greet with love the rosy queen that's coming through the land . THE SUMMER WOODS . Then wake the gladsome greenwood way 10 POETIC READER . PART IL.
... - radiant hand ; Her mantle fold of green and gold is floating round her rarely ; We'll greet with love the rosy queen that's coming through the land . THE SUMMER WOODS . Then wake the gladsome greenwood way 10 POETIC READER . PART IL.
12 psl.
... land . Then make the merry greenwood ring With voices sweet to hear ; As songs that fairy maidens sing At milking of the deer . It is the time when Summer , all his golden glory shedding , His joys on every corner , all his love on sea ...
... land . Then make the merry greenwood ring With voices sweet to hear ; As songs that fairy maidens sing At milking of the deer . It is the time when Summer , all his golden glory shedding , His joys on every corner , all his love on sea ...
15 psl.
... November . NOVEMBER MORNING . ROARING , the wild south - wester R. LEIGHTON . Fills the wide heaven with its clamour , Ploughing the ocean and smiting The land like a ponderous hammer . 15 Lo , how the vast grey spaces Wrestle , and.
... November . NOVEMBER MORNING . ROARING , the wild south - wester R. LEIGHTON . Fills the wide heaven with its clamour , Ploughing the ocean and smiting The land like a ponderous hammer . 15 Lo , how the vast grey spaces Wrestle , and.
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
A. C. SWINBURNE Alcinous ALICE CARY BAYARD TAYLOR beauty bells beneath Bill birds blow brave breath bright boy CELIA THAXTER cloud crimson Croak dance dark dark waves dead death deep dream drum E. C. STEDMAN earth eyes face fair flowers Gettysburg gleaming glee glide gold golden GRANDPÈRE grass green grow Haco hand Hark HAZEL DELL hear heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill Hurrah king knew labour LAING PURVES land light little Wren look maidens merry mighty morning Nausicaa nest night o'er peace PILGRIM FATHERS Poems purple roar ROBERT LEIGHTON rock Rookery round rush sail shining ship shore shout sing smile song soul sound Spring storm stream summer summers rolled sunshine sweet thee thou thrush thunder tossed tree Twas voices waves are free weary whispering wide waves wild WILLIAM Ross WALLACE wind Winter woods yellow young
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 !