Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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5 psl.
... pass ; No mountain pine that ye may not shake , No palm - tree lone by its inland lake ; Then up and off and away with care , Your wings are free and the world is fair ! Blow , winds of April , the winds for me , The world is ours and ...
... pass ; No mountain pine that ye may not shake , No palm - tree lone by its inland lake ; Then up and off and away with care , Your wings are free and the world is fair ! Blow , winds of April , the winds for me , The world is ours and ...
14 psl.
... pass . The sheen of brilliant wings , Songs of shy , flitting things , The low mysterious melodies that thrill Through every summer wood , thy sweet life fill . O bloom ! all joy is thine , All loves around thee shine ; The thousand ...
... pass . The sheen of brilliant wings , Songs of shy , flitting things , The low mysterious melodies that thrill Through every summer wood , thy sweet life fill . O bloom ! all joy is thine , All loves around thee shine ; The thousand ...
17 psl.
... passing by , With his bundle of faggots to keep the keen cold From invading the tenderer lambs of his fold ; And the sportsman returning with dog at his heel , Begins - even he - the sharp frost - breath to feel , And beating his head ...
... passing by , With his bundle of faggots to keep the keen cold From invading the tenderer lambs of his fold ; And the sportsman returning with dog at his heel , Begins - even he - the sharp frost - breath to feel , And beating his head ...
20 psl.
... passing the Rookery , I heard two crows on an outside tree : Quhare haif yo bein , gossip Croak ? " quoth the one : Quoth the other , Just to see quhat good could be done In the kirkyard And what your reward ? " Red ...
... passing the Rookery , I heard two crows on an outside tree : Quhare haif yo bein , gossip Croak ? " quoth the one : Quoth the other , Just to see quhat good could be done In the kirkyard And what your reward ? " Red ...
24 psl.
... pass , The wavelets of the billowy grass ! But fairest of fair things that dwell , ' Mid sylvan nurslings of the dell , Is that clear stream whose murmurs swell To music's airiest issues wrought , As if a Naiad's tongue were fraught ...
... pass , The wavelets of the billowy grass ! But fairest of fair things that dwell , ' Mid sylvan nurslings of the dell , Is that clear stream whose murmurs swell To music's airiest issues wrought , As if a Naiad's tongue were fraught ...
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 !