The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth LongfellowJ.R. Osgood and Company, 1878 - 375 psl. |
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vii psl.
... Death - drink XXII . The Nun of Nidaros . The Theologian's Tale - Torquemada .. The Poet's Tale - The Birds of Killing- 404 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH . 406 407 Spring 482 409 The Child Asleep 482 409 Rondel - From Froissard 483 410 ...
... Death - drink XXII . The Nun of Nidaros . The Theologian's Tale - Torquemada .. The Poet's Tale - The Birds of Killing- 404 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH . 406 407 Spring 482 409 The Child Asleep 482 409 Rondel - From Froissard 483 410 ...
3 psl.
... Death Has lifted up for all , that he shall go To his long resting - place without a tear . WOODS IN WINTER . WHEN Winter winds are piercing chill , And through the hawthorn blows the gale , With solemn feet I tread the hill That ...
... Death Has lifted up for all , that he shall go To his long resting - place without a tear . WOODS IN WINTER . WHEN Winter winds are piercing chill , And through the hawthorn blows the gale , With solemn feet I tread the hill That ...
5 psl.
... death - dirge of the slain ; Behind , the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame , With heavy hearts , and eyes of grief , Leading the war - horse of their chief . Stripped of his proud and martial dress , Uncurbed ...
... death - dirge of the slain ; Behind , the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame , With heavy hearts , and eyes of grief , Leading the war - horse of their chief . Stripped of his proud and martial dress , Uncurbed ...
10 psl.
... Death , THE LIGHT OF STARS . FLOWERS . SPAKE full well , in language quaint and. And , with his sickle keen , He reaps the bearded grain at a breath , And the flowers that grow between . " Shall I have nought that is fai saith he ...
... Death , THE LIGHT OF STARS . FLOWERS . SPAKE full well , in language quaint and. And , with his sickle keen , He reaps the bearded grain at a breath , And the flowers that grow between . " Shall I have nought that is fai saith he ...
13 psl.
... Death , with frosty hand and cold , Plucks the old man by the beard , Sorely , sorely ! The leaves are falling ... death's frost , Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! Glimmer , as funeral lamps , Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain ...
... Death , with frosty hand and cold , Plucks the old man by the beard , Sorely , sorely ! The leaves are falling ... death's frost , Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! Glimmer , as funeral lamps , Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Visos knygos peržiūra - 1865 |
The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Visos knygos peržiūra - 1864 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Angel answered arms beautiful behold bell beneath birds breath bright called clouds comes dark dead death deep door dreams earth Enter eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet fell fire flowers follow forest Friar give gleam golden grave hand hast head hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy King land Laughing leaves light listen living look loud maiden moon morning never night o'er once passed play Pray prayer Prince Henry rest ring rise river rose round rushing sail sang seemed shadows shining side silent singing sleep soft song soul sound speak spirit stand stars stood strong sweet Take tell thee things thou thought Till town turned unto Vict village voice wait walls wandered waves wild wind young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
1 psl. - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
140 psl. - We see but dimly through the mists and vapours ; Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! what seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
355 psl. - The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns!
355 psl. - It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the' cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington.
39 psl. - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, ' As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, 10 And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
135 psl. - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope...
4 psl. - In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land.
20 psl. - Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts!
355 psl. - It was one by the village clock when he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock swim in the moonlight as he passed, and the meeting-house windows...
1 psl. - Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!