The Poetic Year for 1916: A Critical AnthologySmall, Maynard, 1917 - 403 psl. |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Poetic Year for 1916– A Critical Anthology William Stanley Braithwaite Visos knygos peržiūra - 1917 |
The Poetic Year for 1916– A Critical Anthology William Stanley Braithwaite Visos knygos peržiūra - 1917 |
The Poetic Year for 1916– A Critical Anthology William Stanley Braithwaite Visos knygos peržiūra - 1917 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Adelaide Crapsey Alan Seeger Alfred Kreymborg Amy Lowell Anthology asked Jason asked Psyche beauty blue called Clytemnestra Conrad Aiken critic dance dark dead death Donald Evans dreams earth Edwin Arlington Robinson emotional eternal experience eyes faith feel flowers give gold golden green haggis Harvest Moon heart heaven human humor imagination Imagist Jason read Kreymborg laughed leaves light lines listen live look mind Miss modern mood moon mystery nature never night Night Court parody passion poem poet poet's poetic poetry Private McPhee Psyche and Cassandra Psyche's quote remarked rendezvous with Death sense silence sing song sonnet soul spirit Spoon River Anthology stars substance sweet symbols tell There's thing thou thought tion touch trees truth turn verse vision voice volume wind woman wonder woods
Populiarios ištraukos
18 psl. - said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time ; ' Is there anybody there ?
18 psl. - Is there anybody there?" he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.
108 psl. - Where was he going, this man against the sky? You know not, nor do I. But this we know, if we know anything: That we may laugh and fight and sing And of our transcience here make offering To an orient Word that will not be erased, Or, save in incommunicable gleams Too permanent for dreams, Be found or known.
342 psl. - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
343 psl. - And apple-blossoms fill the air— I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath— It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
100 psl. - Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day ; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown ; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet And left to Heaven the rest.
303 psl. - AN AQUARIUM STREAKS of green and yellow iridescence, Silver shiftings, Rings veering out of rings, Silver — gold — Grey-green opaqueness sliding down, With sharp white bubbles Shooting and dancing, Flinging quickly outward.
95 psl. - I am aware, As I sit quietly here in my chair, Sewing or reading or braiding my hair — Human and simple my lot and my share — I am aware of the systems that swing Through the aisles of creation on heavenly wing, I am aware of a marvelous thing.
19 psl. - Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:— "Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word," he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake...
111 psl. - The coming on of his old monster Time Has made him a still man; and he has dreams -*' Were fair to think on once, and all found hollow. He knows how much of what men paint themselves Would blister in the light of what they are...